Breathlessness
by FanSlewFantasy
Summary: I wanted to call this fic 'Gilboobs:the motion picture.' When you read it, you will know why. :I Crack, based on my OTP. You have never read a fic like this before. And that's a money back guarantee. No money will actually be refunded if I'm wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**~BREATHLESSNESS~**  
>…<em>or…<em>**  
>GILBOOBS:THE MOTION PICTURE<strong>**  
><strong>A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction * Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011_  
>PrussiaxAustria *<em>**R18***  
>CRACK~PETTING~BREAST-PLAY~YAOI~FETISH~CRACK. UNBELIEVEABLE QUATITIES OF CRACK<p>

…

_SO IN THIS FIC conveniently for convenient purposes I have selected to group Austria, Prussia and Germany as all sharing the same house. DO NOT QUESTION ME! I! AM! PHONE!_

_That is all._

…

Gilbert Belishmidt rolled over, scratching his ass, stretching a bit and sighing contentedly between tangled sheets and blankets. The clock by his bedside read 11.15 am. He had nothing particularly interesting to do that day, and if asked he would probably reply that hence, he would remain in bed until five, or until his brother came in to wake him.

Whichever happened to come first.

He had had a big day yesterday, what with all the being awesome he was doing. England's boring old meeting had been a great success thanks to his input. And West thought 'he should stay well enough away from G8 meetings now he was no longer a nation'. Pffft… tell that to the couple of million Brits he just saved from drought this year by 'accidently' tipping a glass of water down Arthur's shirt.

You are all welcome.

Relaxed and drowsy. Gilbert felt around for his other pillow (he had six or seven dotted around his bed, amongst a tornado of throws and down filled coverlets) and found it pressed against his thigh.

It was pulled up, without opening his eyes he crammed it under his head and went to roll over again, so he would be lying face buried in the thing and unable to breathe without inhaling feathers.

But unusually, he found some resistance.

A subtle frown line pinched silvery eyebrows together; Gilbert tried heaving his arm around, so as to throw himself over face first.

And fuck. It _hurt._ A wide yawn flexed his face as he tugged down the hem of his baggy black sleeping tee. He glanced briefly to his side, to see what was lying in his bed obstructing him from rolling over, but saw nothing. Just a empty patch of bed and-

Hang on. What's this? Something large and black floating in his peripheral vision.

Gilbert's eyes slid across, from his side to his chest. And entirely without warning, unexpectedly and sure as all hell not pleasantly, he found himself gazing down the chasm between two of the biggest breasts he had _ever_ seen.

Ever.

And he had been to Ukraines.

The hand rubbing his ribcage shifted dumbly, to cup the left breast and lift it ever so slightly. It was heavy, and had a firm, but pleasantly jiggly consistency. Globelike, much too big for one hand to hold fully, and described by a stretch of black cotton.

And it was attached to his chest.

Just like its partner, it was firmly attached to the skin of his chest.

Good god.

Gilbert had _Tits._

…

"Holy shit!" he leapt out if bed quick smart, immediately regretting it when his newly acquired bosom heaved accordingly. Wincing, rubbing the twinge at the small of his back, Prussia hobbled completely off balance to the large mirror attached to his door, tugging off his shirt on the way.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

True, he couldn't.

And he was genuinely confused, as to whether or not to be disgusted or aroused.

Gilbert's breasts were full and pert, pale as snow and tipped with lush dark nipples hardening in the cool air. A faint patter of freckles, similar to the ones on his shoulders he was _really_ conscious about, embellished his swelling bust.

"Holy shit." Repeating himself, Gilbert ghosted his hands over the top of his boobs, giving them a brief squeeze and jumping at the sensation. They were pretty fucking sensitive, he decided, not missing the flush that hued his rosy nipples considerably darker. He turned to the left and to the right, glancing at his profile. He stood with his back to the glass, peeking over his shoulder at the overflow of tit still visible either side. They made his waist look smaller, he noticed, and his neck longer. To test that theory, he turned around once more, at a three-quarter angle, and lifted his chin.

Yes, definitely longer. And not exactly unpleasant either.

A startling and not altogether pleasant thought occurred to him.

_Have I always been female, and just not noticed?_

A quick peek down the front of his knickers assured him that no, he had not. The metaphorical shuttle was in the hanger, and understandably, this left Gilbert _quite_ perplexed.

It must be a dream, he decided numbly, jiggling his shoulders so as to watch his cleavage ripple. The weirdest ass dream he had ever had. He would just dash back to bed now then, go to sleep, and wake up refreshed and flat chested.

Awesome plan.

Tugging his tee back on, grumbling under his breath (the things I put up with! By God… I should just do away with dreaming all together. More trouble than its worth, just like those goddamned crusades…) Gilbert padded back to his bed and pulled the blankets back, making ready to get in.

"Gilbert~"

He groaned, the bubbly bright voice cantered heavily down the hall to his bedroom on a pair of crookedly booted feet.

"What is it Italia." He cast a quick look over his shoulder, to check that the door was shut. Dream or not, he didn't want Italy seeing his new acquisitions. He'd probably want to _touch_ them or something. Which in Gilbert's slightly warped paradigm, still counted as gay.

He didn't want to catch 'the gay', because he knew that as soon as he did he would be like his brother, all soft and moony over some skinny little Italian wisp or another, and drinking _wine_ with his dinner instead of beer.

Seriously. Wine.

If Gilbert had been dead, he would be spinning in his grave.

"Ludwig asked me to wake you. He needs your help moving Austria's piano."

A heavy groan, the endowed man standing by the bed sat down on the edge for a moment (it wasn't easy to stand with these things you know) and carded his fingers through rumpled silvery hair.

"Why cant _Austria_ do it? Or you even?"

"Because neither of us are as strong as you. Ve~ Gilbert, I'm coming in."

And Gilbert jumped, as though he had just been given a rather large electric shock.

"No! Don't Italy!" he scrambled for his sheet and pulled it up to hide what needed to be hidden. Dream Italy sure was annoying… almost more so than normal Italy!

"Why not Gilbert? Do you have France in here again?"

"No! Feli that was one time! It was an accident I- CLOSE THE GODDAMNED DOOR!" he clutched the sheet as tight as he could to his chest, defeating the purpose of holding it up at all actually when his bosom popped into definition either side of his tensed forearms. "HOLY SHIT KID! DO YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR PRIVACY?"

Italy, however, wasn't listening.

Being Italian, having hence been acquainted with his fair share of fine Italian madams in his time (although none of them, miserably, would ever let him touch…) Feliciano had seen some big chests in his day.

Being a nation, he had also met Ukraine.

Truth of the matter was though, that although he found the picture of Gilbert, face pink with embarrassment and shock and bearing a set of tits, beyond unusual, he could not under pain of torture and execution deny that they were by far the largest and most luscious pair he had ever seen.

"Wow! Gosh Gilbert. You have… uh…" he blushed and made cupping gestures with his hands. "Really big um…"  
>"Yes, yes I know I know!" face burning thermo-nuclear red now, he waved the Italian away. "Now go away! I'm trying to get to sleep!"<p>

But alas, Feli was lost.

To enchanted by those jelly jiggling mountains, he edged forward. Was that a nipple he could see, perking the cloth of the sheet and tee Gilbert wore beneath? With each soft breath the ex-nation took, they moved a little. Cute freckles peaked shyly over the top hem of gilberts neckline.¨

"Wow Gilbert. They are really pretty." He opened his eyes wide, sparkling with excitement and innocence. "Can I touch them?"

…

Ludwig Belischmidt was no doctor.

That being said, he had been in plenty of wars and subsequently, had seen some pretty interesting things.

That guy who had been shot in the stomach, for example, and lived for twenty succeeding years with a large hole in his torso. Last time he heard, they were using him in experiments which involved looking into the hole and watching him digest food. Or how about that solider who grew a tooth on his foot. That was unpleasant for all involved.

But no. this was definitely something else.

All the same, he knew the diagnosis as sure as he knew his own name. He removed his stethoscope from his brothers bust, and cleared his throat.

"It is as I suspected. Those are definitely breasts."

"No shit doctor obvious! And oh my God, guess what? This is a FINGER!" Gilbert made a rude gesture, jamming it roughly in Ludwig's face. "I fucking know what they are you idiot. I'm asking you to explain how they got there!"

Now that one… Ludwig was at a bit of a loss.

He shrugged and removed the first of his budget brand size six all purpose surgical gloves, casting it onto the top of Roderich's piano. It lay there, limply, like a sheath of pealed skin. Gilbert sulked and stood up.

"Actually, I don't care. I'm going back upstairs to sleep, and when I wake up they will be gone again I'm sure."

"This isn't a dream Gilbert…"

"Oh yeah, prove it?"

Ludwig thought for a moment, Gilbert folded his arms under his breasts, lower lip thrust out in a bratty pout.

"Well… if this was a dream of yours, Roderich wouldn't exist right?"

Ruby eyes narrowed. "Yes…"

"Hey Roderich! Get in here!"

"What?" a clatter and bang from the kitchen next door, gilberts eyes widened in horror and he leapt behind Ludwig, in order to hide his breasts. Being the good little brother, Ludwig ignored the press of bosom against his back, and trued not to wince at the weird sensation. "I'm trying to make a tart. Have you moved my piano yet?"

"No. but I was just checking, you exist, right?"

Roderich gave the man and his older brother (who for some inexplicable reason was crouching behind him as though he was afraid of Roderich and his almighty batter coated spatula,) a very odd look.

"Yeesssss…"

"There, he exists, not a dream." Arms folded in triumph, Ludwig sighed. Gilbert hissed softly.

"kesese… it's a nightmare then. Duh."

"Ve~ if it was a nightmare, wouldn't mister Roderich have seen them Gilbert?"

Italy, bearing one of Hungary's old bras and bad news, clopped into the room in his mis-tied boots.

"They are so pretty Austria. You should come have a look."

"No!" if he didn't think Germany would deck him, Prussia could have happily beaten the small auburn haired man to a pulp using nothing but Ludwigs's discarded glove. "Roderich don't you DARE come near me! I swear to god you take one step I will kill you to death."

Thoroughly confused, Austria raised his spatula.

"All I wanted to do was make a cake." He stated simply, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

He really, really didn't want to know.

…

I do not own hetalia axis powers. Fortunately. Because if I did, this would be hard to explain to the fandom.


	2. Chapter 2

see this motherfucker here? →

i just realised today its been fucking up all my brand new flashy formatting and centre alignments. what. a. cunt.**  
><strong>

**...  
><strong>

**~BREATHLESSNESS~**  
>…<em>or…<em>**  
>GILBOOBS:THE MOTION PICTURE<strong>**  
><strong>A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction * Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011_  
>PrussiaxAustria *<em>**R18***  
>CRACK~PETTING~BREAST-PLAY~YAOI~FETISH~CRACK. UNBELIEVEABLE QUATITIES OF CRACK<p>

...

"It's not fucking fitting Feli!" Gilbert winced when the bra underwire dug into the soft white under flesh of his left breast. "It's too small."

"Ve~ of course it will! Its Hungary's biggest bra! I've seen her fit twice as much boob in here as she has on her chest. Now suck in your tummy."

"It doesn't work like that, stupid!" Prussia decided against asking what Feli had meant by 'twice as much boob in here as she has on her chest.' "I cant 'suck in' boobs!"

"Oh Gilbert." Exasperated. Italy stopped trying to fit the too-small bra on his friends too-bestowed chest. "you're hopeless."

"I'm hopeless? I didn't ask for these stupid! Here, take 'em if you want 'em. I don't care!" fed up now, Gilbert tore the bra from his chest and threw it to the floor. The thought of modesty was no longer an issue, and he didn't even notice Feliciano's eyes widen, he didn't think twice about the fact he had just revealed to the Italian man his first ever pair of real, lamplight breast naked and breathtaking.

"… Are you serious?"

"Yes I'm serious! I don't want them!" he folded his arms, chest popping upward over crossed forearms, pointing lushly. His nipples hardened in the chill air. "Take them, take them all!"

So really, he had no right at all to yell and fling a fist out when a pair of slender Italian hands reached out and clamped down on the pinnacle of each one.

"Italy what are you doing?"

"You said I could." Thoughtful, contemplative expression pressing his features, Italy gave them a squeeze and tilted his head to the side when Gilbert jumped and scrambled to pull his hands off. Those formerly stiff pink nipples were now flushed dark and unyielding, like pebbles notched in the v between thumb and index finger. "Ve~ Gilbert they are all hard…"

"Don't rub them!" frustrated and embarrassed, Gilbert couldn't get enough leverage to tear Feliciano's hands off. "they are very sen-SITIVE!" his knees nearly gave way beneath him when the other man pulled softly, heal of his palms kneading the full flesh beneath, face unconsciously edging forward so that his breath ghosted the freckled surface. "Oh god Italy don't do t-hatttt…."

And despite his words, Gilbert couldn't help but edge backward, slumping against the wall behind him, chest arching forward into the touch. Because it felt good. Those lithe Italian fingers touching and prodding and massaging… they felt amazing. And Gilbert was never a man for forgoing pleasure when it came his way. Especially not when it was warm and tingly, leaking slowly down his spine and glowing at his tailbone.

"What's wrong Gilbert?" innocent hazelnut eyes picked up the dark pink flooding snowy cheeks, the delicate flutter of white lashed eyes glazing and falling closed. "are you okay?"

"Mmm, yeah, I'm fine. I just… I really think you should stop Ita, please…"

"Why? I like them. They feel nice!" he gave them another jiggle and rub, and Gilbert had to clap a hurried hand over his mouth to catch the soft gasp he emitted. "They are so… wow. I wish Germany had some! I want to kiss them and play with them all day."

"… Please don't."

"Ve~ such a spoilsport Gilbert." The tip of his thumb skirted around a nipple, and Gilbert winced. "I don't know what's so bad about it, really I-"

"Gilbert! What in the name of fuck do you think you are doing?"

The two men jumped, Germany's angry, nay furious, voice succeeded in ripping Italy's hands from Gilbert's chest where white knuckled fingers had not.

"Ludwig!"

"Ve ~Luddy, Gilbert was just letting me play with his breasts. They are so fuuuuun." Feliciano smiled brightly and scampered to his partner's side. Unfortunately for Gilbert, his best 'innocent' expression was not unsuitable for a man who had just torched a small building. He settled with looking apologetic instead, and sunk further against the wall.

"He was helping me put my bra on." He tried, struggling to hide his obviously aroused tits. "and he got distracted…"

Ludwig's eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Uh-huh."

"It's true!"

Gil scrambled for his t-shirt, cast on the ground with Hungary's old bra, and wiggled into it under his brother's heavy scrutiny. It wasn't until his nakedness was covered Ludwig spoke again.

"It had better be. Now come on, are we going to move this piano or not?"

Gilbert sighed heavily and ruffled his hair. His tummy was complaining.

"Yeah, I guess."

Ludwig grunted.

…

"Why does he even want to have the damn thing moved, anyway?" Gilbert struggled to walk down the hall in his brothers wake, boobs putting him way off balance. "He's fine by the fireplace, isn't he?"

"Yes, but now its summer he wants to be by the window."

"Stupid prissy faggot cant make up his dumbass mind…"

"Gilbert, shut up and don't be such a jerk." Reaching the parlour, Ludwig opened one of the double doors and beckoned his brother in, he turned and spoke to someone sitting in the room. "he's here now, we can start. Just tell us where you want it."

Gilbert froze in his tracks.

"Oh, okey. Well, the cake is ready so when you are done feel free to have some."

"mm. We will. Come one Gilbert!" Ludwig stuck his head back out the door, glaring at his brother standing paralyzed just outside. "The sooner we do this the better."

"I'm not going in there!" his voice, high and uncharacteristically cutting, was rich with indignity and embarrassment. "I can't, not like this!" he pointed to his chest, nipples visible through tight black cloth, clingy t-shirt describing every full curve and jiggle.

"Why not? They are no big deal."

"No big… no big deal?"

"No, I'm sure he's seen boobs before. Certainly not ones that size but-"

Austria's ears pricked at the word 'boobs'.

"You what?" he pulled himself up off the chaise by the window, setting down his china plate of cake on the coffee table and smoothing the tails of his deep blue blazer. Neat buckled shoes clicked in the wooden floor, he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and a pained expression of panic flickered across gilberts face when he heard the approach. There was no where to run… they were going to be seen.

"What about boobs?"

Gilbert would have happily died in the moment that sharp, pretty aristocrat face appeared around the door.

Roderich's wild flyaway curl bobbed curiously, it took him about thirty seconds to register exactly what he was looking at.

A tall, incredibly slim figure, standing curvily, neatly booted ankles together. The stranger had a shy posture, and pretty hips on which dark trousers sat comfortably low. But it was the assets above waist height that held Roderich's attention.

Breasts.

A set of huge, beautiful breasts stretching the black cloth of a skin tight tee.

The hem of the t-shirt at the bottom rode up, revealing a smooth tummy, the given fabric describing the underside of both swells of breast and sweeping up to a neckline dipped tantalizingly low. Cleavage, glorious, heaving cleavage, the colour of snow and littered with cute, pale freckles. Delicious, captivating, Roderich had never seen anything so wonderful in his whole life.

If there were no witnesses, he would have lunged forward and buried his face between them, hands squeezing, lips purring over the flawless marble skin…

"Oh god Ludwig make him stop staring!"

Roderich was jerked from his fantasies unpleasantly by an unwelcome voice, and a few seconds in which he managed to regain awareness of reality later, he discovered the source.

Good God. The person with that beautiful bust was _Gilbert_! The elegant, razor-sharp features didn't lie. Those flashing red eyes, the same colour as the blush gracing his pale cheeks. And that hair, unbrushed, platinum blonde…

Gilbert. Female Gilbert.

Roderich's stomach leapt, the strangest combination of attraction and disgust churning in his gut. He couldn't believe… he had just fantasised about sucking on a part of gilbert.

It was a secret he decided in a split second he would take to his grave.

"Gilbert? What happened?"

"I don't know stop looking at them!"

"I can't! Good god… they are huge!"

"I can see that!" if Gilbert cold spit poison, he would have hacked a lougie the size of Berlin at the man who had slipped from the parlour (despite Germanys spluttering 'are we going to do this or not?') and was approaching him in a curious, almost predatory fashion. "And don't come near me! Dumb cunt."

"Where did they come from? How did they happen?"

"I don't know! I woke up with them!"

"Hmm." Austria stopped about 30cms away from the object of his fascination, index finger pressed to his lips in thought. "Looks like the work of England to me."

Gilbert forgot about being embarrassed for a moment, eyebrows rising in surprise.

"England?"

"Yah. Him and that magic hoo-har he fiddles around with. I remember something similar happening to Spain a few years ago. He grew a tail."

"A tail?"

"Mhmm…"

"ARE WE GOING TO MOVE THIS PIANO OR NOT?"

Ludwig was sick of being ignored today. It wasn't even midday, and he had been disregarded in favour of breasts approximately five times too many already. Frankly, one time was too many. They were only breasts, after all. And they were attached to Gilbert.

The thought made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Ah, right, right." Roderich smoothed his hair and sniffed haughtily. "We are indeed. Come on please Gilbert, help."

"Hey, just cause I have boobs doesn't mean you can boss me around you pansy floral panty wearing-"

"GILBERT!"

"Aw fuck, sorry."

Germany glared firmly. "You'd better be."

…

"Ouch Roderich that motherfucker wont come out!"

"Gilbert it will too if you just stop wiggling!"

The two sat side by side on the relocated piano stool, in front of the relocated piano, Gilberts hand clasped firmly in Roderich's own. The Pair of tweezers held by the later were being put to use removing a splinter, large and painful, from beneath the nail of Gilbert's embarrassingly graceful middle finger. It was his own fault of course, that he had got the thing, raking his nails along the underside of Roderich's piano on purpose to what end? That was a mystery, but its safe to assume that revenge hadn't been far from his mind.

And Roderich with his superior smirk and steady hands had been the only one willing to pull the bastard splinter out.

"I'm not wiggling, it's my breathing! It makes the tits heave. I can't help it."

Roderich bit his lower lip, head bowed over the finger and face, thankfully, hidden.

"Well, could you lean back. They are in the way. Or hold your hand further out. This isn't comfortable you know."

Lie. Roderich had never been so comfortable in all his life, cheek pressing softly against Gilbert's right breast, the perfume of them, of clean skin and spple and subtle beer undertones. It was gilberts smell, but it was lush and rich with something delicious and fertile.

He made a not to grab that t-shirt from the laundry before it was washed. Because that smell would haunt his sweet dreams forever he knew it.

"Can't you just hurry up?"

The Austrian sighed and lifted his head. "Patience is a virtue. Could you push my glasses up please?"

Gilbert obliged, and Roderich returned to his tweezering. The thing was almost out. Almost…

"Hey Austria. Germany said you had made some cake."

"Yah, it's on the table."

Italy bounced happily to the tray and chopped himself a large slice.

"I see you have seen gilberts new boobs." He giggled childishly, loping over and taking an unwelcome seat on gilberts other side. "Aren't they cool?"

A brief squeeze earned and indignant squeak, Roderich paused with his work and glanced up in surprise and envy.

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"No he's not!"

Gilbert was ignored.

"Ve~ yup. Give it a try, its fun."

"No!" Gilbert yanked his hand away and almost toppled backward off the stool. "Don't you dare! If you do I will kill you! Not even joking, I will tear this splinter from my finger and shove it into your sphincter!"

Roderich blinked, surprised.

"Why? Are you afraid you might like it?"

"No!" a burst of red stained white cheeks and said 'yes, actually, I am'. "As if I could!"

"He liked it when I rubbed his nipples."

"ITALY!"

Gilbert had never been so embarrassed in his life. And Gilbert had been in some embarrassing situations.

The occasion a drunk France had taken him to bed came to mind. And let's not forget the time Italy had caught him plucking his eyebrows and proceeded to tell everyone he knew. (He couldn't help it! And there was no way he would end up having facial friends the size of England's if he could help it. A man had his dignity, you know.) And that day Hungary had caught him crying… THAT was an incident of weakness he never intended anyone to see or know about, let alone that mad cow of a nation.

But of all these, Italy telling Austria quite happily that Gilbert got off on having his nipples touched was by far the worst.

Truly.

Or perhaps it only felt like it, because it was happening in the now.

"Ve~ Gilbert it's true! You were so cute and flustered… you should look like that more often and perhaps more people would like you."

Humiliated tears pricking his eyes _(goddamnit Gilbert! If you cry I will kick your ass!)_ Prussia snatched the tweezers from Roderich's hand and stood, storming out of the room and leaving a confused Feliciano and embarrassingly intrigued Roderich behind.

"Feliciano?"

"Yes?"

"… Tell me everything."

…

Gilbert was done with this shit day.

Twenty unsuccessful splinter-riffic minutes later, he was still fumbling with the tweezers. Unable to see past his breasts to see what he was doing. He was hungry, his finger hurt, and he had been made to look foolish and week in the eyes of his arch nemesis.

Frustrated, tears leaking freely down his face now, he hissed and threw the tweezers at his bedroom wall. They cracked the wooden panel, and clattered to the ground.

"Godfucking damn you piece of shit." He grumbled a chain of incomprehensible swears and flopped backward on his bead, back aching dully from supporting his melons all morning long.

He hated everything.

"Prussia..." a hesitant, soft knock on his door. "Gilbert are you in there. Can I come in?"

"No. Fuck off and die." Gilbert pulled his blankets up, covering his head and nuzzling down into his pillows. On the other side of the door, Roderich sighed heavily, and swung his body weight from one buckle shoed foot to the other.

"Gilbert, let me in. I never finished with that splinter."

"I got it out myself." Gilbert lied, trying not to let his throbbing had touch the sheets. "Now Fucking go away. I'm not a spectacle in a zoo you know."

"I know that you dumbass, and if you were I wouldn't go and see you anyway. Now I'm coming in."

Gilbert hissed and sat up; he really needed to get a lock for his door!

"Get out! Of all the people in the world, you are the one I least want o see."

"That's strange, usually I'm the one you most want to be all up in the face of." Austria sent the sulking man his most disapproving glare. "One would think, with all that extra boob you have, that would be much easier to do."

"Fucking shut up specs, I swear if you say one more word..."

"In any case, I just wanted to let you know that even with massive tits, I still hate you as much as I did before. They haven't changed anything in the way I look at you emotionally. So stop worrying that I'm going to start fancying you or thinking better of you just because you have breasts the size of rock melons."

Eyes narrowed, suspicious of weather or not he should feel assured by this, Gilbert edged away when Roderich picked the tweezers up of the floor and stepped toward his bed.

"Now give me your hand." He insisted firmly, "and let me finish with that splinter."

"If you hate me so much why would you want it out?" Gilbert folded his arms, with great difficulty, across his chest.

"Because it's the right thing to do."

With that, Roderich plopped himself down on the edge of he disgracefully arranged bed and yanked gilberts sore hand over for operation. To busy being suspicious, Gilbert didn't resist, and watched in slit eyed silence as the elegant Austrian with the steady fingers worked teasing the splinter out from under his nail. It took about three minutes of intense concentration and careful needling, but finally Roderich gave a satisfied 'harumph' and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Right Gilbert. This is going to hurt. A lot."

Gilbert thought, in the moment Roderich squeezed his fingertip with all the force of Satan's own nipple clamps, that the words 'this is going to hurt. A lot' could comfortably have won the award for understatement of the year. In a split searing second of white hot agony, in the moment that Roderich's nails dug into the tender quick of his own and the splinter in question popped out, Gilbert clean forgot about boobs, and masculinity, and that fact that once upon a time he was one of the most powerful and feared nations that ever ruled. He whined and clawed his thigh, yanking his hand back as soon as the splinter was dislodged and jamming it into his mouth to stop the fountain of blood pouring forth from the wound.

"Ow ow ow!" he complained through a mouthful of finger. "wodrich tha focking hert'.

"I told you so."

Slender, white, and splinter free fingers plucked the culprit from his lap and offered it questioningly to Prussia. "Here, want to keep this as a battle trophy or something?"

"yowa cunth." A slick cobweb of saliva escaped the corner of gilberts mouth and he wiped it aside, still sucking on his finger like it was his job. The taste of blood was making him feel sick. "sick it in yow arth."

Roderich shrugged and set the splinter and the tweezers down on the bedside. "I must say," he commented lightly, leaning uncomfortably close to his fellow. "I rather like sulky Gilbert. He's much easier to wind up than regular Gilbert. Infact, I daresay this is my first time ever actually properly tormenting you! I rather like it."

"Thick basthtard." Gilbert pulled his slicked and still stinging finger from his mouth. "Sick bastard. Taking advantage of a man who's disabled."

In the situation, most people would have said that growing breasts wasn't that much of a disability. This group was not exclusive, and certainly included the bespectacled Austrian having an absolute roaring time being the harasser for once. Gilbird, the traitorous cur, had taken perch in his silky cocoa hair, he wore an exceptionally 'cat-who-got-the-cream' expression... no, Roderich didn't see Gilbert's breasts as an impediment top anything. At all.

He clicked his tongue and tried surreptitiously to sneak a peek down gilberts top.

"Having breasts is not a disability, Gilbert."

"I'd like to see you take them,."

"Ah... remember what happened last time you said that?"

Gilbert was forcibly an unwelcomely reminded that Roderich knew of the italy-related-breast-fondelling-unplesantness, and in a fit of embarrassment threw himself backward and dragged the blankets up over his head.

"Oh come on now Prussia!" a sharp note of frustration hemmed Roderich's voice now, keeping it tight and firm. "you're acting like a child! They will go away you know."

No reply. Roderich sighed heavily and slipped off his shoes.

"I mean, when Antonio grew his tail it was gone in twenty for hours. It just shrunk itself away. And do you know what? He didn't even care. He just cut a hole in the ass of his pants and carried on as though..." he trailed off, attention seized by the soft hills and curves of fabric draped over gilberts hidden body. The swells where his bosom lifted steadily were alien and looked soft. Incredibly soft. And he found himself thinking on what Italy had said. That as soon as he had touched them, Gilbert had been unable to push his hands away. What would they feel like? The question taunted him cruelly. What would the taste like beneath his lips...

Fuck it. Etiquette meant nothing in the presence of breasts like these. God would forgive him, surely.

Roderich was going to have a grope, if it was the last thing he ever did. He was aware, and uncaring, that knowing Gilbert the likelihood of that being the situation was very, very high.

But once again fuck it.

He was going to feel them.

And that was that.

And by god.

It was worth it.

He clamped his hands down firmly on gilberts unsuspecting bust, directly over the peaks, and gave a confident, lecherous squeeze. They yielded to him deliciously, the press of nipples on his sensitive palms sublime. Warmth melted through the sheet and the shirt Gilbert wore, Roderich slid his hands down swiftly and fingered a nipple (oh god yes!) before the objects of his attention were rudely pulled away from him, the noise Gilbert making as he struggled to sit high pitched and embarrassing.

"What the fuck?" he stared dumbly at Austria, cheeks a ruddy red hue, arms crossed protectively against his possessions. "What the fuck? Did you- did you just touch my tits?"

The two sat in a bit of an awkward silence then, Gilbert loose jawed and gaping, struck dumb with disbelief, Roderich staring in awe at his own hands, patiently awaiting his imminent death.

"I said, did you just touch my tits?"

Roderich nodded solemnly, swallowing, and dropped his hands. "Yes."

"What the fuck man?" good god Gilbert could not believe this. He genuinely couldn't believe it. Feliciano violating him, well, that was to be expected. But to be sexually harassed by his rival, a stuck up snot of an aristocrat no less, was something Gilbert would never have predicted. Ever.

EVER.

"I'm gonna kill you."

And if the situation was slightly closer to normal, Gilbert would have leaped at his harasser and snapped his neck before anyone there could say 'titty rape'. Fortunately for Austria, Gil was yet to adjust to the off weight his ample bosom. His sudden leap forward was sloppy and miscalculated, and dodged easily by Roderich. Who was just as astonished by his escape as Gilbert. Gilbird, who had enough of this, fluttered from his perch on Roderich's crown and settled on the bed headboard. His beady black eyes glinted, he watched his daddy growl, drag himself up off the bed and size up the still reeling Roderich.

The still reeling Roderich, who couldn't believe he had actually brushed his fingers over Gilbert's nipple. And that it had felt really fucking good. His heartbeat was still hammering, his fingertip still warm. His brain, numb and delirious with excitement, was filled with indecent images he would never, ever have imagined viable or likeable or anything. Anything.

Gilbert, his broad and cunning smile beckoning as he lifted the hem of his tight black tee. The slow exposure of a flat stomach, belly button pierced (good god when had he gotten that done?) with a thick silver bar, the black eight ball glinted cheekily from the dip of his creamy navel. The spill of breast on the underside, imaginary Gilbert pulled his shirt higher and began revealing perfect round boobs. His glasses began to fog, and he was far too lost in this split second fantasy to notice real Gilbert gather his wits and regain his balance, before lunging and slamming both of their bodies down onto the mattress. Slim hands bearing pewter rigs clamped firmly on Roderichs throat, the maniac crinkle between Prussia's eyes was almost rakish. He was a fiery man, always had been, always would be. And it was well known that his beauty as a nation and as a human was most clear when he was fighting. When bloodlust fired in his veins and that hunger, the need to devour, sent him descending into stunning fury. Now he had the smaller man beneath him on the bed, his thumbs crushing airways that had drawn so tightly in shock, Gilbert truly intended to see his statement out.

"You perverted little snot. All prissy, walking around like you have a silver spoon in your arse." The hands squeezed tighter, Roderich's glasses slid sideways and he squirmed between Prussia's spread thighs. The wavering silhouette of breast filled his blurred vision.

"You're just a sicko out to laugh at my misery!"

Roderich made an alien noise and jerked his hipbone up jaggedly, ramming Gilbert firmly in the ball sack. "you're always laughing at mine!" he spluttered when claiming hands were released to nurse a throbbing manhood. "and aren't I entitled to a little bit of sexuality? I happen to like tits. So sue me."

"I might fucking do that! As if having boobs wasn't enough you decided to make me a eunuch too! How about if I grew a vagina, would that make you happy?" the breathy high voice Gilbert retorted with could have made any man wince in empathetic pain. "Holy shit that hurt so bad!"

"You were trying to strangle me!"

"You deserved it."

"I did not."

Indignant, composing himself and trying to think superior, aristocratic thoughts, remembering he had to make another couple of cakes that night because Kiku had asked him too, he wiggled between gilberts legs and sniffed.

"Could you get off me Gilbert. If you don't mind, I have things to do."

"You aren't going anywhere until you pay for touching my boobs and breaking my ball sack!"

The pain was ebbing now, replaced with fury and that boob-related smart at the small of his back. Gilbert's eyes flashed as he slammed a flat palm own on Roderich's chest and pushed him firmly into the mattress.

"Especially for the ball sack thing."

"Well I'm sorry, but I have plans and things, I can't just go around dying, it would be very irresponsible of me!"

"Well then you shouldn't have touched my breasts should you have?"

"You shouldn't have such amazing breasts then, dumbass."

Gilbert froze. He had been incised far too many times that day already, and wasn't sure if he had the energy to go back into straight out rage mode. He settled for gobsmacked shock, and a level of indignancy Roderich himself could have envied. Were he not being straddled by a man with tits.

"Excuse me?"

"I said-"

"I know what you said! I mean what are you talking about?" his thighs clenched either side of Roderich's waist, his hand clawing the plain white shirt beneath spread fingers. "Amazing breasts. What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means Gilbert. It means you happen to have really beautiful boobs, and I wanted to touch them. Now please get off me."

With him rigid and astonished, Roderich pushed the other man aside easily and squirmed off the bed. His trousers smoothed, his hair fixed, he glanced at Gilbert still kneeling on the bed, arms clutched tightly around himself and staring at the covers as though he had just seen the apocalypse itself.

"I will see you tomorrow then Gilbert."

He slipped his shoes on tossed his nose on the way out the door.

Gilbert remained kneeling on his bed, arms cocooning him, feeling more violated and hot than he ever had before. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and made him dully aware that he needed the bathroom, but he remained there in silence unmoving until he knew he could hold it no more.

The last sprint to the toilet was life and death. He made it just in time.

…

**GILBERT:** Roderich! Grab my-  
><strong>RODERICH:<strong> Say it and I will cut you. ಠ_ಠ

I do not own hetalia.


	3. Chapter 3

**SMACK**/_n_/. Smut mixed with copious amounts of crack. See also GENDER SWAPPING and FEM!_x_.

…

And now its time for the 'awkward not quite yaoi, not quite hetero, not quite anything really almost smut scene you knew was coming from the start.'

Yes. I am serious. Very much so.

My advice, run before the smack takes you in.

…

It's your fault for having such amazing breasts…

Gilbert stared at the squares of light the streetlamps cast on his ceiling, breath heavy from the weight on his chest pressing against his lungs, fingers worrying a thin patch of sheet to fray. Roderich's words were keeping him up, the neon blue lights on the face of his alarm clock ticked over to 2.36am, and he heard Feliciano giggle faintly through the wall. Ludwig in the dark, with his wandering fingers and his shy lips... Gilbert felt a stab of envy. If the two Germanic siblings had anything in common it was incompetence when it came to dealing with emotions. But at least Germany, with all his straight up clean cut ergonomic ways, could find some kind of bridge in the cloak of darkness.

Quietly cursing the only couple he had ever heard of who set their alarm for two thirty so they could make love in secret, Gilbert slammed his pillow over his head and rolled over. His boobs followed, and jiggled uncomfortably as he made himself comfortable. His back really hurt.

The soft sound of whispering. Usually, Gilbert slept straight through his brothers night time activities, or was to busy screaming at noobs via xbox on line to hear, but tonight the walls seemed unusually thin. And his ears unpleasantly sensitive.

"Ahhhhhhh..." the soft breathless noise made him uncomfortable. Feliciano was a breathless guy during waking life and during half-conscious sex. Ludwig silent and focused on the sound of kisses and skin sweeping over skin. Gilbert ground his teeth and cursed the silence too. His chest throbbed.

A soft flow of airy Italian Gilbert didn't understand, followed by a low reassurance in German he could.

"Don't worry, he's asleep."

"No I'm not!" Gilbert lifted his head pillow and barked as loudly as he could. The echo of his voice clapped ominously in the night and on the other side ofthe wall the two lovers froze in their foreplay. Gilbert huffed and wriggled around some more. His back really, really hurt!

The clock read 3.15 when he realised he had had enough, and dragged himself out of bed for some panadol and some fresh air. He felt strange, naked, as he edged out of his room wearing only a too small singlet top and shorties. And still he thought about Roderich's words. Amazing was something he never thought the other would use in relation to him. The sensation chording in his gut was unpleasant, unclean. As though he had just been raped with a look and _liked_ it. Like he was particularly filthy or perverted.

Dirty.

He ruffled his hair, other hand rubbing the small of his back as he padded down the hall (carefully dodging the creaking floorboard outside of Roderich's room) and edged into the shadowy, pleasantly warm kitchen. It still smelled faintly of the pasta Italy had made for dinner.

It was dark. Really dark. Clouds threatening rain blocked out the moon, and Gilbert could barely see a foot in front of his face. Luckily for him, he knew my way around his brothers kitchen as well as he knew his way around a DDR mat (what can I say, he had told Japan upon beating him, I really am that awesome,) and had no trouble edging around the counter to the fridge, cracking it open and hoping to feast on the spoils within.

And god was smiling on him that day. Which was fair, Gilbert decided. The big man owed him, what with the boobs thing. And shit did that peach and cream layer cake with the words 'happy birthday dearest Hungary' frosted onto it look good.

Gilbert bit his lip to contain his grin, stroking a dab of frosting off with his finger and licking it to taste. It was creamy and delicate, a delicious not-too-sweet-sweet, and Gilbert fairly fell I love with it instantly, stepping back to open the cutlery drawer and pull out a steel bladed knife.

Head back in the fridge, Gilbert pressed the knife to the centre of the cake, skewing the 'Hu' in Hungary, and licked his lips. He was just about to make the cut when a neat post-it attached to the cake stand caught his eye.

_Please refrain from eating this cake._

Gilbert snorted and pulled it off, before balling it up and tossing it carelessly to the floor. No note was going to stop him from eating cake if he so pleased!

But the note underneath caught him off guard.

_This means you, Gilbert._

Stupid Roderich, Gilbert thought as he chopped himself a sizeable chunk of cake and licked the frosting off the knife. He can't have eyes everywhere, and who did he think he was, making snotty little post-its and lameing up gilberts efforts to be as awesome as he could be…

"Gilbert Bielshmidt, do I have to cram that entire cake down your neck now you've cut it? Its ruined anyway, I may as well."

Gilbert almost jumped straight out of his too small shorts when he heard Roderich's voice resonate lowly in the darkness.

"Roderich!"

"No other." A fine hand reached past him and nipped the knife from his hand. "Now if you don't mind me asking, what, pray tell, do you think you are doing`?"

"I'm… eating cake." Gilbert scratched his nose awkwardly. "Want some?"

He squeaked when suddenly, the point of a sharp, frosting covered knife was pointed at his face.

"Back away from the cake Gilbert."

And even though he didn't quite understand what was going on, (maybe this was a dream. Maybe he had accidently wandered into that weird sci-fi thing Alfred was always talking about. The twilight zone or something,) Gilbert obliged. After all, you didn't say know to a man holding you at knife point. Even if he was wearing a lace spaghetti strap sleep gown and eye mask.

"Hey, its cool specs, no need to get stabby."

"I'm not going to stab you stupid." A wiggle of the knife and Gilbert backed away some more, until his back was pressed against the edge of the breakfast bar. "I was just here to ask what you thought you were doing with Hungary's birthday cake."

"… I was taking it… out for a walk." A pregnant pause. "in my mouth."

"Uh huh." Roderich nodded thoughtfully. "Didn't get there though, did it?"

"Well, no. you kinda cake blocked me there a bit."

"Oh did I?"

"Yeah."

"Well _sorry."_ Roderich all but growled the last word, stepping close to Gilbert and succeeding to fairly effectively intimidate him. Gilbert sniffed and turned his chin to the side. His hands gripped the wooden edge of the bench. In the low backlighting of the fridge, Austria was actually pretty scary.

"…'sallright."

They remained like this for about a minute, sizing each other up, waiting to see whom would back down first. It was Roderich, who lowered the knife to the counter and sighed quite heavily. With one hand he removed his eye mask from its spot on his head, and cast it on the counter beside his weapon.

"Good thing I made two cakes," he mused, turning around and reaching for the cupboard above the fridge. "By god Gilbert, you are so lucky I made two cakes." He opened the cupboard and slid a large plate from the rack, so as to load the cut piece of cake up on the plate and nudge the fridge door shut with his hip. Gilbert heard, rather than saw the smack of him licking cream off his fingers, and was more than a little shocked to feel the plate of cake thrust roughly into his hot little hands.

"Why are you even down here?" Roderich asked, busying himself in the pantry. He too, was familiar with Germany's kitchen in the dark. "Surely it was not solely to poach my cake."

"I came to get paracetamol, my backs sore." Gil poked the cake on his plate blindly. The faint silvery night light was beginning to bring everything back into fuzzy, shadowy focus, but not quite. "Why are you here."

"Heard you creeping, thought I should check it out." There was a pop as Austria found his tea tin and opened it. "With them there, you aren't particularly light footed."

Gilbert sucked in a breath at yet another personal address to his bosom.

"Leave them alone! They will be gone soon!"

"They will indeed." Roderich was surprisingly accomplished at making tea in the dark, filling the kettle efficiently and setting it neatly on the stove. "They will indeedy deed. You can eat that cake, stupid. You cut it."

The Prussian wasn't quite sure if he still wanted it.

"I'm not hungry." He said, setting the plate down. I'm going back to bed."

But no. Roderich was not having that.

A swift arm seized his singlet and tugged him back when he tried to leave, he was pressed back firmly against the bench, and Roderich forsook his tea in favour of stepping forward and grinding his knee firmly against one of Gilbert's jutting hips.

"You cut it, you eat it dickhead."

"I don't want-"

"Eat it!" a clawed hand darted out, and Austria seized a handful of cake from the lump on the discarded plate. "Or at least, do something useful with it."

Gilbert, for the second, third or zillionth time since he had woken up yesterday morning, gasped in shock when soft, spongy cake and fluffy sticky cream was smeared messily across the stretch of chest his skimpy singlet didn't hide. Roderich pressed the contents of his hand firmly on the rise of the left, and then grated over the cleave to the right, rubbing slowly in malicious circles. A bitter, satisfied little smile shadowed his face and for the first time in his life he truly felt he had one up over Gilbert. Who was still too shocked to have reacted.

Because oh no Roderich did _not_ just cream and cake his tits.

With a triumphant smirk, Austria removed his hand and flicked it, flecks of cake and frosting splattering the floor and his own bare legs as he did so, before bringing his fingers to his mouth to suck patiently. The cake tasted good. He hummed contentedly and shifted his knee on gilberts hip.

Never mind." He commented lightly. "You can go back to bed now."

But bed was possibly the furtherest thing on Gilbert's mind.

The initial surprise of what had just happened was still wearing off. The sudden wetness rubbed over his chest, the feel of warm fingers smearing the cool cream across skin prickled excitedly. His knees were weak, his heart hammering from a combination of shock and exhilaration. And he was too tired from lack of sleep to resist.

A shaking hand rose to touch the cream on one boob, to check if it was real or imaginary. But it stuck to his fingers all right, very tangible and delicious.

His nipples were rigid like buttons, peaking the fabric of his top.

Pulling off his singlet he advanced fairly aggressively on slender, triumphant, finger sucking Roderich. Doing so smeared a little sponge cake and peach on his cheek, but he didn't care. Rain began to patter on the roof, but neither man noticed when suddenly, without warning Gilbert had the other pressed against the fridge, the slightly smaller chestnut haired man with his face forcibly and unexpectedly buried in the swell of gilberts perfect breasts. His fingers clawed the air hopelessly for a second, but Gilbert found them, pinning them backward. It was hard to breath, his head was spinning and he felt faint.

"Dirty fag." Gilbert hissed through grinding teeth, backing away a little to allow Roderich to suck a breath. He stood on his tiptoes and manoeuvred his posture a little, so that he could look down on the other man and watch as one of his freely swaying nipples brushed the satined skin of a flushed cheek. "Fucking putting cream all over my tits why don't you."

Roderich screwed up his face and tried in vain to escape. The corner of Gilbert's moth twitched up and he pulled a shoulder back in order to offer a rigid nipple, pressing it imploringly against Roderich's lips.

"Suck." He demanded, in a hush, a whisper. "Clean it all up."

Neither mentioned or minded there was actually no cake or cream on Gilbert's nipple. Hardly believing his luck in the face of such an exquisite offer, Roderich obliged with a delirious and eager tongue, sliding it messily over the nub before closing his eyes and sealing his whole mouth around the thing, puckering the skin into a deep, delectable suck.

The guttural moan he got as a reward served as the best encourage meant he had ever had for anything. Ever.

"Fuck Roderich…"

"Mmm?" his tongue flicked the firm, unyielding pad of flesh, tracing the edge languidly, nose pressed against the soft freckled skin atop gilberts chest. He wondered if perhaps he was dreaming. It was sweet scented, yielding, and sticky with cream. His hands lifted without being requested, and cupped both tits, one in each hand. The thumb of the hand caressing the left, the one he was not attending to orally, traced Gilbert's other nipple teasingly, pressing and massaging and tugging oh god!

Gilbert gasped, head tipping back in awe, trembling fingers combing excitedly through soft, coffee coloured hair. His hips pinned his partner back further against the fridge, but neither noticed. Those hands squeezing and massaging and touching shamelessly were sending breathtaking tremors down his spine, and Prussia didn't notice much actually. Besides lips and a tongue straying up to the satin skin of his bust that is.

Roderich sighed delightedly, meeting cream and sponge and peach on his travels and licking it up with languid, hot want. It tasted better, he thought briefly as he sucked deeply on a particularly sensitive mouthful of flesh, than it would off a plate. And Gilbert's chest was warm. It was zealous and firm and cushiony. And he really, genuinely didn't give a fuck that he was _hard._ In fact, he was seriously considering asking Gilbert to give him a titty-fuck when he as done licking. Not in those words, of course, but by god he could just imagine it. The thought of holding those boobs and fucking them, graceful white throat bared and waiting to be beaded by his pearly cum, wetted a patch in the front of his nightshirt. A hand caressing his hair slid down the nape of his neck and back, finding lodge on his hip and rubbing in small circles. Gilbert's leg slid between his, nudging the hem of his modesty upwards. He found the cleave of gilberts chest and licked it up, eating out his breasts and delighting in the tremble and shudder of short, pleasured breaths jerking beneath his mouth.

"Fuck Roderich that feels good."

Roderich hummed against his skin and continued to kneed with his hands, pelvis beginning to grind ever so slightly against the others.

"Are you getting hot?" he murmured against the dip at the base of gilberts throat. The necklace usually nestled there was missing; his heartbeat whispered an excited hush in the artery beneath Roderich's puffed lips.

"So what if I am?" his voice was felt more than it was heard against Roderich's cheek. A sleek, sexy purr he had never noticed before, and for a second he had to wonder if it was him who spoke. "You are too."

"Mmm," grabbing Gilbert's head firmly and pulling his down, Roderich opened his eyes and tossed his mussed up fringe aside. Wide pupils jewelled by amethyst gantlets locked with narrowed, fiery partners. For a few moments, there was nothing to break the silence but heavy breathing, the rustle of cloth as Roderich allowed his leg to be lifted and hitched around gilberts hip. Still gazing at each other, forehead to forehead now, bare breasts to the thin cloth covering on the Austrian mans chest, they spared, noses sliding against each other, lips paring, hands cradling faces and stroking hair and caressing cheekbones. Preparing…

The kiss was gentle, chaste, but sweet and warm. Wet lips met creamy ones, Gilbert's hand rubbed the naked thigh wrapped around him ambitiously. And as eyes fluttered closed and they parted for breath, before melding again, the tips of tongues daring to test and explore and taste.

Gilbert sucked softly on the prick of his partners upper lip, sighing pleasantly and focused on the thumb running down his cheekbone and to his jaw. A faint smile faded into his expression, and when their teeth clacked, he snickered, smacking his mouth comfortably and contentedly against Roderich's own.

"You're good with your hands." He whispered.

"You're a great kisser." Came the response, and the two men kissed some more, bodies hot, hands enthusiastic, hearts pulsing in tandem. It was good. So good. And it felt _right._ Like Gilbert had been waiting to taste this mans mouth all his life. The flavour was perfect, the texture flawless. And he was pretty sure he had never been so horny ever.

The sudden clatter of footsteps on the stairs scared him shitless.

Roderich jerked his head back, knocking it on the fridge and swearing disgustingly. His thigh slipped and Gilbert, horrified, shirtless Gilbert, leapt backwards, scrambling to pick up his singlet and franticly hunting for the head hole.

"Fuck!" he muttered, finally finding the right hole and wiggling into it. "fuckfuckfuckfuckityfuck!"

But he struggled getting it over his boobs.

When Italy appeared in the kitchen and switched on the lights, he had cut his losses, fists pressed to his sore eyes, top pulled over his head and one arm but still baring flushed and jiggling bosoms and crouched in panic behind the counter. Austria was too shell shocked to respond, and was still standing wide eyed by the fridge rubbing his sore head.

"Oh, hello mister Austria." Feliciano's bright voice would have earned a groan, if the thought of being discovered here like this didn't make Gilbert feel faintly sick. "Funny to see you up so early."

"I uh…" Austria blinked in astonishment and smoothed his night-gown, pulling the hem where it had ridden up. "Was… hungry."

"okay! Well, there's still pasta in the fridge." Italy laughed softly and padded right by gilberts hiding place. With a sharp intake of breath, Prussia sunk back into the shadows of the counter. Anxious Austria glanced at the still exposed, huddled man, and edged around Italy to stand in front of him. From between Austria's ankles, Gilbert could see Italy's legs, long and slim and disappearing into an old shirt of west's, as he busied himself in the pantry.

"What are you up to then Ita?" Roderich asked politely. Feliciano giggled and found what he was looking for, a bottle of chocolate syrup and packet of marshmallows tucked in the pantry behind Gilbirds boxes of birdseed.

"Well, Ludwig and I are going to make love now Gilbert is asleep." He clicked his tongue, and Gilbert noted he stood with his legs wide apart, like a little whore. "Neat, right?"

"erm…" unsure what to say, Roderich nodded. "Great."

Italy laughed and swung his hip.

"Yah, so I will see you in the morning okey?"

"Yeah, goodnight."

Italy turned off the light when he left, and Gilbert sighed in relief. That kid had the attention span of a goldfish. Not that he was complaining, he was thanking god actually, that it hadn't been Germany who had come down. God knows he would never have lived it down had his brother caught him shaking up with Roderich at three thirty am.

Holy shit.¨

He just remembered.

He had been _shacking up with Roderich._

"Ughhhh!" he pulled a particularly disgusted face, the kind one would pull upon standing in something magnanimously unpleasant or smelly, and shoved the man standing numbly in front of him forward so he could stand. "Oh god!"

He couldn't recall ever having felt so unclean in his life. As though his tongue was covered in foul tasting Vaseline and his fingers might just fall off in a leprotic manner.

"Oh my fucking god I can't believe… I can't…"

Roderich too, was only just beginning to realise the immensity of what had just about passed between them. His face was almost as repulsed as Gilbert's, his cheeks paling and his dick feeling rather as though it was shrivelling up back inside his body. He wondered if he would ever get a hard-on again.

"Ew." He managed weakly, wiping his mouth sloppily on the back of his hand. "Ew. Ew ew EWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

"shut up you fucking dumbass!" Gilbert gritted his teeth and leapt, clapping his hand over Roderich's moth to silence him. "Just shut the hell up! Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh god…" he bit his lip and shook his head. He wanted to shower!

"Right." He huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Right. Okay. Right. Here's what we are going to do." He met Roderich's wide eyed gaze,

"We are going to go back to our separate beds, and pretend this never happened. Right?"

A conceding nod, gilberts lashes fluttered in relief and he dropped his hand.

"Good. And let us never speak of it again."

"What if one of us does?"

"Then they have to call the other "god" for the rest of their life."

Roderich thought about that for a moment, the scenario, having to call Gilbert god, was one that filled him with a low, unpleasant sickness.

"Agreed." He held out his hand firmly, and Gilbert gripped it in a knuckle crushing handshake.

"Agreed."

They locked eyes one last time, neither of them willing to admit that their hearts were still racing, and their minds a whirlpool of foreign unfamiliar emotion.

It was probably one of those things better left unsaid.

…

Im sorry you had to read that. But its kind of a main plot point and I couldn't very well leave it out.

Words cannot express how uncomfortable that was to write.


	4. Chapter 4

Gilbert sighed heavily, rubbing his right breast with his left hand, stroking his cock impatiently with his right.

He was beginning to see that maybe these things had some appeal after all.

Gritting his teeth, head tossing so that his lengthening fringe stuck to the sweaty sheen glowing on the height of his cheekbones, Gilbert fisted faster and bit back a barely contained growl.

"Fuck…" he grumbled, seizing his nipple and tugging it, missing Roderich's tongue (damnit! Don't think that!) and the silky warmth it had supplied. "Fuck yes! Oh… oh god!"

Frantic, nearly cumming, he thumbed the perky head of his dick. It wetted his skin, precum dripping down his wrist. It felt so _good!_ The softness of his chest moving beneath his hand and the stiffness of over sensitive nipples. The way they pressed together and jiggled, fingered and pulled and squeezed. He was melting under his own administrations. For the first time in years he was really enjoying having a fap.

The heavy knock on his bedroom door, familiar and no-shit, was one of the most unwelcome things he had heard all week.

"Piss off west!" he bellowed, opening his eyes and seeing his bedroom blur back into focus. His legs, with his jeans pushed down his hips and propped up on the coffee table, framed the laptop on which the porno he was watching played. Alex in wonderland. It was Gilbert's favourite because the blue eyed white blonde star reminded him a little of himself. If he was a girlboy and enjoyed being fucked by an androgynous man in a stupid hat.

"I'm busy!"

"I don't care. We need to-" Ludwig, who really should have learned his lesson by now, had opened the door.

"Fucking hell man." Disappointed in his little brother, but not surprised, Gilbert let his head fall onto the back of his la-z-boy so he could see him standing in the doorway. "When I say 'I'm busy' it means I'm having a jerk. How many times must this happen before you figure it out?"

Ludwig sniffed and looked away, lips pressed into a firm bloodless line and kicking himself on the inside.

"Sorry." He clipped, waiting a moment for Gilbert to pull his singlet down and put his dick away. After about thirty seconds he realised that wasn't going to happen, and sighed.

"Fine." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Well, I came to check if you still had the breasts, which I can see you clearly do, and say that this evening Austria and I are going to see Britain. Would you like to come with us?"

Gilbert frowned and glanced at his laptop. The film was up to the part with the jack of hearts, and soon would be going into a full blown oral scene he didn't want to miss.

"Why would I want to come with you?"

"So that if it was him who did this to you you can get it fixed, yes?"

"Oh yeah…" Gilbert licked his lips and tossed his fringe aside. "Good idea. Alright, I'll come." He released his breast to wave Ludwig away. "And now, if you don't mind, I have some coming here I need to finish up as well. I will be downstairs in time for lunch."

Ludwig balled his fist and obligingly shut his brother's bedroom door once again.

That man had no decency, he thought to himself as he walked down the hall and past the parlour where Roderich had been playing the piano since 6am.

Really.

…

For Roderich that morning, jacking off could not have been further from his mind or his desires.

He really was quite convinced he would happily swear off sex forever, if required

In wait for a passing pilgrim with whom to tag along, he had seeked solace in his piano, the music drowning out bad thoughts and the bellow of pedals shifting calming that shrieking panicking waif in his brain screaming "!" like a siren over and over and over.

All this suppressing, however, while effective, had left him looking a little bit more uptight than usual. As though he was sucking on a bitter sweet he was trying to convince himself tasted like honey. With little success.

When heavy boot falls creaked the floorboards in the hall, however, he gave up on his sweet, spitting it out in a metaphorical sense and allowing an expression of utter despair to pass over his expression. Italy, seated on the sofa reading a magazine, looked up, brows knitted at the shudder of the pianists playing and the whine he omitted when a rough, careless hand shoved the door open and Gilbert tramped in as though the sun actually shone out his ass and everyone ought know it. The chains he had strung duchily from his belt clinked, his boots, laced up to his knees, were hardly muffled by the rug beneath his feet, and his untamed breast jiggled comfortably within the confines of a sleeveless woollen cowl-neck, an unnatural blue colour that looked strange on him, because it totally mismatched his eyes.

"Where's west?" he asked Italy, not even sparing a glance Roderich's way.

"In the shower." Italy responded. "there's a bacon sandwich on the bench for you. Germany asked I make it."

"Ahh…" a satisfied smirk curled his lip and he stretched. Roderich squirmed in disgust, trying to sink into insignificance on his piano stool, when that stretch revealed gilberts unshaved underarms and the soft silver-blonde hair (heavy with the scent of Giorgio Armani… when had that started?) they nested.

"That west. Good guy, under all the jerk." He tossed his head and clapped his hands together. Italy 'hmmed' happily and returned to reading his magazine.

"What about you specs?" Roderich jumped almost a foot when Gilbert turned to him. "Did you make me a sandwich too?"

Spluttering, Roderich hunted for the appropriate response.

"No!" he clawed his hands on the ivories of his piano and curled his toes in his shoes. His cheeks were darkening against his will, and he wondered if Gilbert was thinking of the early morning too.

Gilbert of course was. He was just much better at hiding it.

"Why would I?" Roderich continued. "Make your own damn sandwich!"

"Woah… chill out Roddy." Gilbert raised his hands and threw himself carelessly onto the sofa beside Italy, heals on the coffee table nearly knocking the vase of white roses and baby's breath to the floor. "I was just asking." He clicked his tongue and peeked over Feliciano's shoulder. The magazine he was reading was unsurprisingly a cooking one. The recipe being studied a jam tart that looked damn good.

Gilbert wondered for a split second what _jam_ would feel like in his cleavage, but almost immediately pretended he didn't. After all, that wasn't very awesome of him at all, and he'd been very good actually, at pretending that the prior incidents hadn't occurred. In fact, he hadn't even thought of it that heavily, until walking into the parlour that morning and gazing upon that cursed, lilac eyed man.

Damn him and such.

"Well don't!" riled up, Roderich returned attention to his piano and in Gilbert's mind the comparison between pissy Austria and Gilbird when bathing was drawn. He wondered how he had missed it before. The ruffled feathers, the flustered, fluttery movements…

"Stop staring at me!"

It wasn't until Roderich , two minutes later, lifted his eyes from the sheet of music he was studying and saw Gilbert looking he really felt he couldn't stand to be in the same room any longer. Clueless Italy, leaning on gilberts shoulder now and twirling a lock of hair around his finger, didn't notice a thing. The clock ticking on the mantle did little or nothing to break the awkwardness.

Pressing his lips together, Roderich stood, back like a steal rod, and slipped out from behind his piano.

Gilbert sniffed and dropped his gaze.

The Austrian remained in the kitchen for the remainder of the day, bustling and baking and missing his piano but far to nervous to go back in and play whilst Gilbert was there.

Gilbert didn't bother to get up and retrieve his sandwich.

…

"Ah yah…" Arthur Kirkland raised his eyebrows at the sight, the small action all he gave to betray his shock at discovering his little hex had taken _this_ form. He had originally intended for Gilbert to grow a neat set of cat ears, maybe a tail. Apparently, the spell he had used had been a little more potent. He wondered briefly if it would be rude to request he took some photos, maybe did a brief study, so as to investigate the fascinating results a little more in-depth…

"Well?" Gilbert snapped, hands on his hips "did you do this or what?"

"Oh, right." Arthur shook his head and stepped aside, to allow the two Germans and the Austrian through. "Yes, yes I guess I did. Come in then, and we will sort out how to fix it."

Gilbert sniffed self righteously and bustled in. Arthur winced at the track of mud his big, clunky boots smeared liberally all over his carpet, but remained silent. Once the other two had entered, he shut the door and turned to face them all.

"Would you care for a cuppa?" he offered weakly. Ludwig shook his head.

"Not today thank you Arthur. Just a cure and those papers we came for."

"Right, right." England beckoned the men into his kitchen and swept the two reams of neatly typed paper waiting on the breakfast bar into his hands before offering them politely to Austria and Germany respectively. "Here's your papers…and as for a cure." He drew a chair out from the table and took a seat. "Well… I'm afraid that's no-where near as easy as one would expect."

Gilbert, lingering in the doorway, choked a little on his spit, furious gaze lighting on the small, respectable Brit wearing an argyle sweater vest and black pressed trousers, even though it was a weekend.

"What?"

"Well, its not as easy as you think you know. Anything could go wrong…"

Ludwig took a seat at the table; Austria remained rigidly standing by the window. Gilbert was looking sour and displeased with the whole affair.

"What do you mean?" he asked dangerously. "What did you even do to me?"

England sighed and rubbed his temples.

"I'm sorry." He murmured. "I was drunk, and it was Alfred's idea. I must have cast the hex wrong…"

"'I'm sorry' does shit all, Arthur!" A hot flush burned gilberts face, the sweater he wore was suddenly much too hot, and the wool scratchy. "I have tits, in case you haven't noticed. Giant, jiggling tits! And I want them rid!"

Although they were certainly pleasant to play with, he would be lying of he were to say he favoured them over his own familiar, flat chest. Being able to tolerate the things for a few days was one thing, but the thought of having to bear them for the rest of his life filled him with an abstract dread.

Arthur gestured wearily for Gilbert to sit down between himself and Austria. Hesitant to do so, but relenting eventually, Gilbert ignored Roderich's nervous shuffling to the furtherest edge of his chair and took the place. God knows he coudn't have stood the whole time, with the boobs and all.

"Allow me to explain." Arthur pented his fingers thoughtfully and sucked the inside of his cheek. "As I'm sure you remember, the meeting we had the other day in which you oh so kindly dumped a glass of water over me, also happened to coincide with the date Alfred and I had uh…" he trailed off. "Actually, no. you probably did not know that."

"Yes we did." Germany interjected curtly. "Alfred told us all about it. I believe his exact quote was he wanted to 'wear your thighs as a scarf and-'"

"Okay!" flushing _quite_ red now, Arthur balled his fist under the table and made a mental note to kill Alfred when he saw him. "Maybe you did know."

"I was simply quoting him." Germany lifted his chin a little defiantly and authoritively, before waving his hand. "Carry on."

"Well anyway." Arthur continued. "That evening, Alfred and I… had plans. And in order to get those plans rolling, he had brought… assistance."

Gilbert's eyebrows flew up, Roderich cleared his throat awkwardly and Germany did an exceptional job of maintaining his poker face, although he was very tempted to look away. Arthur realised what he had said too late.

"No!" he defended "not _that _kind of assistance! Alcohol! He brought alcohol!" Arthur sighed and carded his fingers through rumpled blonde hair. "Anyway. We got totally wasted. And somehow or another we ended up in my basement mixing potions from kitchen ingredients and moisturizer. As sometimes seems the thing to doo, when one is utterly hammered." He looked a little remorseful, but sucked it up. Gilbert couldn't help smirk at the thought of uptight Arthur, sloshed and giggling, as he blended and utilized a delightful Turmeric face cream intended to 'magically melt away the years."

He made a mental note to try mixing some turmeric powder into that body butter crap Roderich used on his hands, but immediately scratched it out when he realised that no-one, not even Roderich, was stupid enough to not notice the cream turn from pale lavender and sweet smelling to bright yellow and 'Rashishma's tandori surprise' scented overnight.

Maybe Italy might be. Maybe.

"Gilbert, did you pay any attention to what he just said?" clipped from his musings by Roderich's high-pitched, reprimanding voice, Gilbert settled back down to earth and shook his hair out.

"Right." He said. "Right. No I'm sorry, I missed it."

"I said," England repeated, "Somehow, Alfred managed to convince me to bring out my hex book. If I remember correctly, we gave Russia a rather bad case of warts, before moving on to you in some kind of poorly thought out drunk revenge scheme. I had anticipated this visit, although I had never dreamed that the effects would be so…" he struggled for a word. "_voluptuous_."

No-one else seemed to notice, like Gilbert did, that of all the words Arthur could of chosen he had selected the most invasive and inappropriate. He crossed his arms protectively, and tried to look furious.

"In any case," Arthur continued, "my best advice would be to just let them run their course. I'm positive they aren't permanent."

"How long do you think they will last?" Germany asked solemnly. Arthur shrugged.

"Anywhere between a few days to a few weeks. Maybe a couple of months…"

"MONTHS?" Gilbert's jaw dropped, his mind had a small hernia. "What do you mean, 'months', are you implying I might have to walk around like some kind of tranny freak for a few months?"

Arthur nodded, unaffected.

"Yes."

It was not the most welcome news Gilbert had ever heard. Really.

…

Gilbert drowned his sorrows in beer.

He spent almost the whole evening in the parlour, knocking back bottle after bottle of larger and ale and even some brandy he found in Italy's cooking closet.

Roderich paced back and forth past the doorway every so often, surreptitiously peeking in and worrying his bottom lip every time he saw another bottle added to the heap of empties on the coffee table.

"Still drinking is he?" Feliciano, bearing a large basket of laundry (mostly Ludwig's underwear) hovered at Austria's shoulder when he caught the other watching, wearing a fairly casual pair of jeans (rare) and a knowing expression. (Even rarer.) There was something about Italy in trousers that perturbed Roderich a little bit. It was surreal, kind of like he imagined things would feel if one day he walked into a G8 meeting and America was eating a weight watchers Granola bar. They made the young man look… almost like a functioning part of civilized society. And Roderich was nearly tempted to ask his opinion on what had happened the morning before. What, if anything, should he do? Did he owe the man anything? If so what? And why the _hell_ couldn't he stop staring at them? The beer that had sloshed down Gilberts front had wet his tee, it clung possessively to the bosom within and fucking hell they were just there, prime for looking. He felt like a pervert!

"Say, Italy?" he turned away from the door of the parlour, whispering so Gilbert wouldn't notice they were there, and slid the crack he had pried for peeking through shut. "You touched Gilbert's boobs, right?"

Feliciano tipped his head to the side, brows furrowed.

"Yus..." he thought for a moment, hair curl bobbing lazily. "why?"

"Well, its just, uh…" Roderich pinched his nose and sighed, his cravat rustled. "Well, its like this. Me too."

"They are great right?" a bubbly giggle. Exasperated, Roderich stared accusingly at the pants slung on the Italians hips. Damn them and their misleading impression. The kid really was a ditz, Levis intact or no.

"No, Italy, you aren't taking this seriously." He seized Feliciano's shoulders and brought him around so they were face to face. The Italian dropped his laundry basket, spilling knickers across the floor. Roderich's voice lowered gravely. "I mean, _I touched Gilbert's breasts._"

Bewildered caramel locked with solemn, grim lilac.

"I touched them with my hands." Roderich continued. "I touched them, and I _liked it._"

Well, of course, Feliciano didn't know what to do. All he had set out with the intention for that evening was washing his partner's knickers. Now he was being held in a death grip by an Austrian with a crazed glint in his eye, in a hall adjacent to a thoroughly drunk ex-crusaider, being interrogated about something his ignorance left him entirely innocent for.

"… I liked it too?" he tried. "I mean, they were fun to play with."

"Ugh!" giving up, Roderich cast his hands into the air in frustration. This really was the worst. "For Christ's sake Italy! Are you not all there? I mean I always knew you were slow but really!" he opened the parlour door a crack again and jammed his eye to it. Gilbert hadn't moved. He was prying the lid off another bottle of beer with his teeth, the red on his face evidence of obscene drunkedness.

"I mean, I was attracted to _Gilbert_! How bad is that? And even worse he let me! I feel so unclean… it's crazy! I think I'm going insane…" he gnawed a pinkie nail fretfully. The fine velvet of his coat creased. "I just can't get over the fact that he _let_ me…"

"Well maybe that means that he wanted you to do it." Italy had a rare streak of logic shining in him that day. Maybe those pants were doing something after all. "I mean, he was pretty insistent I stopped when I had a go."

The thought was shocking, appallingly new and somewhat disturbing. It hadn't occurred to Austria, those sorts of implications. He had been far to busy trying to sort his own ass, let alone figure out what was going on in the mind of the other, and loose jawed and utterly astoundedly numb with disbelief, he straightened up.

"Absolutely not!" he managed after a sufficient time space in which to re-organise his brain mechanisms. "Not at all. There's no way on planet earth he could have liked it! The notion is laughable." He crossed his arms tightly, "Totally ridiculous."

He would have given anything in the world to have stopped Feliciano from doing what he did next.

"Why don't you ask him then?" he chirped. And then, blithe and stupid, he simply barged into the parlour, laundry spilling from the basket and trailing in the floor behind him. Gilbert glanced up in wide eyed shock. His eyes slid around the scene for a bit, before refocusing. Roderich, biting his knuckle and wanting just a little bit to die, jerked his head back and sunk against the wall on the other side, out of gilberts view.

Within the room, the Italian waited patiently, for Gilbert's admission. Setting his beer down, Prussia swiped his nose on the back of his hand and hoiked in that unpleasant, testosteroney way men sometimes do.

"uh… hey Felitim-Feeli-uh… Felish… Italy." he frowned, trying to remember if that was right. "What can I do yah for? If you're looking for wesht he's uh… he's…" the mental capacity needed to complete that sentence was too much for his booze soaked brain. He let the sentence trail off dumbly, and sighed instead. Italy squared his shoulders.

"Did you like it when Roderich touched your chest."

_Oh god!_

In the hall, in the dark and listening with pricked ears to this exchange, Austria fisted his hands in his hair and tore at it in humiliation. Nononononononono… this was not happening. This was NOT happening.

In the parlour, Gilbert looked thoroughly addled by the question.

"What?"

"Roderich. When he touched your chest." A vacant nod, which Italy took to mean he understood but really meant 'holy shit I think I'm going to spew in the vase of flowers on the coffee table', and the exuberant, shameless Feli carried on. "Did you like it?"

"Oh chest!" a small piece of the comprehension puzzle clicked and Gilbert made grabby motions over his breasts. "You mean these thing-a-ma-jiggys?"

"Yes those. When Roderich touched them. Did you like it?"

This was all very unwelcome news for drunk Gilbert. His minds eye flooded with images of he-who-any-sober-man-would-have-recognised-as-Alfred Jones having a debaucherous feel of his most intimate parts. His face crinkled, and he was now almost ninety percent sure he would be 'fertilizing' that vase of flowers alright, within a minute or so.

"What? Roderich did that?"

"He said he did, yes." Italy nodded. "He was wondering if you liked it."

But the spot out in the hallway, previously occupied by the Austrian, was empty. Roderich had vacated as soon as Gilbert had used the word 'thingy-ma-jiggys', with intention to immediately find the nearest monastery and sign up. Or maybe, even better, a position as a palace eunuch somewhere in Nepal.

The further away, the less use required of his manhood, the better.


	5. Chapter 5

**SORRY EVERYONE- for the über late update. i feel shit about that. :/ im struggling to stay on top of things currently so shit may get messy woth my updates and my posting over the next few weeks.** **plx bear with me, and please totally enjoy this chappie. i am sooooooo~ inspired to write pruaus lately, which is terrible cause i have like four requests and updates to do that do NOT require any pruAus action and well... kyah. -.-**

_i do not own hetalia._

* * *

><p>"Why. Was. I. born." Roderich banged his head miserably on his pillow, nose uncomfortably skewed by the firm rubber he preferred over feathers. Sprawled out on his bed, having been unable to find a monastery within the immediate vicinity and too damn tired to go on a pilgrimage to discover one, he had retired to his room instead, feeling like he might just die and be done with it. His door had had a note taped to it in Germany's handwriting.<p>

_Austria, Hungary called. She wants to know why there's a large slice missing from her cake._

Possibly because stupid Feliciano saw nothing wrong with delivering a half demolished pastry, as opposed to the neat fresh one that had been in the other fridge in the wash room. And upon seeing it he really hadn't felt any better. Thinking about cake made him queasy.

He took of his glasses and massaged his temples. Things were grim. That was the long and short of it.

A disgracefully slurred rendition of Beethoven's fifth tapped out on his door made him groan heavily and he was just about to tell the perpetrator to 'fuck off' when the door clicked open and hopelessly intoxicated Gilbert hobbled in on high classy boots.

"Hey specs." He practically shouted, throwing himself onto the bed and rolling onto his back. Mortified and astonished, Roderich sat up and scooted away.

"Gilbert what are you-"

"Ah! Ah ah ah, Roderich you gotta call me god now, remember? Cause you told Italy you sucked my _tits!_"

Of course, he did have to yell it. Loud enough so that Hungary probably heard. That was going to be a hrad one to explain. And on top of that Roderich hadn't told Italy anything of the sort. Exactly. He thumped Gilbert on the side of the head with a pillow, convinced his face was going to burst into flame, and didn't stop until squealing for mercy, Gilbert grabbed the pillow and yanked it away.

"Oi, respect your god sp-ugh…" he swallowed a belch and dissolved into a yawn. "uh… sorry. I ah… mmm." His flushed pink face could have passed for cute, if Roderich didn't know that the man was actually Satan.

"Gilbert," he spoke tightly, trying not to panic. His heartbeat was racing, and that chest… it was just there. Jiggling and unguarded. "You should leave, I want to sleep."

"Can't I sleep here tonight?"

"No."

"I'm too tired to get up."

"No."

"Hey Roderich?"

"What?"

"… wanna have another feel?"

"No!" fully enraged now, Austria stood up and dragged Gilbert off his bed, which was a lot harder than one would suspect. "No I do not! What, in gods name, makes you think that I would ever, _ever_ want to have relations… of that nature, with you again?"

Gilbert frowned and ruffled his hair.

"You know. I read somewhere that 80% of Austrians perform and receive oral sex on a regular basis." A sniff to his underarm, which still smelled suspiciously like… not stink, Gilbert gave Roderich a glimpse of those pits again. "I've never had oral sex… betcha its awesome. I reckon-"

"Get out!" frankly, the thought of Gilbert having sex of any sort made the Austrians skin crawl. "And don't talk about things like that so bluntly. It's un-gentlemanly!"

"Because I am _such_ a gentle man." An exaggerated toss of his head, Gilbert jiggled his breasts with his hands and 'sauntered' (Hobbled drunkenly, in the eyes of a sober man,) toward the door. A backward glance over his shoulder, Roderich was reminded in high velocity of that time France had fucked the albino man. On that occasion, Gilbert hadn't been half this drunk. Roderich hadn't heard the end of it for weeks, Gils complaints and humiliated lamenting, Francis scoffing and bragging about how utterly breathtaking Gilbert was in the sack. It had been a little too much for the Austrian then, having to lock himself in his quarters least the notion of pushy, hot headed Prussia getting laid made him sick. But now…

NO!

He bit the inside of his cheek, snapped his head around and looked frantically for some kind of artillery. A thick novel on his bedside, that one he kept meaning to read and meaning to read but never got further than a chapter before he lost interest. He picked it up and threw it as hard as he could at the man in the door. It missed, but got the point across.

"Asshole." He hissed, watching Gilbert duck from his room in shock horror. "Stupid bigheaded jerk. Egomaniacal…"

He filled the rest of his evening with words like this, muttered in a torrent of curses and slurs as he sat on his bed and tried to get some feeling back into his jelly legs.

…

Austria, awkward about this kind of thing at the best of times, was more than put out the next morning when in the shower, during what was usually his timeslot for that most shameful and uncouth weekly display of distaste, he found himself totally unable to get it up.

"Goddamnit!" he tossed the bar of golden pears soap at the wall in frustration, sinking down into the bottom of the shower cubby to letting the steaming plumes of water flow over his hunched back and dribble darkly through perfectly conditioned, lavender scented hair. "Goddamnittttttt…" his soft mumble turned into a needy moan, he tried to clear his head. All that filled the space once that was done was a dull disbelief. He hadn't actually genuinely thought that the scaring experience in the kitchen would make him impotent! Genuinely, he had been exaggerating! Worry warting! Being a stroppy dramatic priss…

God he hated it when he had to concede and use Gilbert's nicknames for himself.

Slumping back against the wall and wriggling his nose to dismiss a few stray drops of warm water, he reached down between his legs and gave a brief, semi-optimistic tug.

Nothing. Not even a warm tingle.

Usually, the thought of Hungary's breasts, and the time she had when they were married allowed him to touch them, was sufficient to get him off. It was a neat, private and little thing, contained strictly by maturity and temperance. After all, she had been his wife; they had at one time been under his jurisdiction… so he was entitled to still think of them every now and again, right?

Well, he had never asked anyone, nor did he plan to. It was just rather unfortunate that now the thought of those pointy, relatively small boobs did little or nothing for him.

He hoped that he wouldn't have to marry Ukraine or anything, to get his hands on a pair of satisfying tits.

Not that he wouldn't, if the opportunity arose.

Screwing his face up, Roderich tipped his head back and allowed the jet to hit his forehead, his arms wrapped around his knees neatly and he sighed, breath misting a little as he did do. The water was warm. He always liked to get a shower before ten am, when Gilbert woke and used all the hot water doing god knows what in the bathroom. The beat of wetness on his flesh was calming. He scolded himself for his perverse manner of thinking and cracked open his eyes. The blurry blue tiles of Germany's bathroom greeted him.

"What do I do?" he asked no-body in particular. "What do I do… he looks _amazing_."

Frankly, Roderich didn't give a flying fuck he had a dick. The thought didn't once pass his mind although if it had he would have acknowledged that that too was a pretty weighty issue. Gilbert Beilschmidt was the most sexy thing he had seen in his piteous life. There really was, in this position, no way he could deny it. Although he would have happily rather died as opposed to admitting that to anyone else.

Resigned he opened his legs and took a hold of his cock.

Right, Gilbert.

If Roderich was going to do this, he was going to do it in the most dignified way possible. That of course, meant degrading the other as much as he could. If that meant putting fantasy Gilbert into a fucking tutu then goddamnit he would. Teeth gritted, he cast his mind into the deepest, most perverse alleys of his mind. Something humiliating, something impossibly humiliating… he decided that if he looked at it as _using_ Gilbert, rather than allowing himself to get off to the thought of him, it counted as being dominant and superior. Rather like regarding a whore…

Yes, he decided he could live with that.

He started by focusing on gilberts lips. He did have very pretty lips. He thought of those lips wrapped around the tip of his flaccid dick, and a small twitch earned a relieved sigh. A gentle, encouraging stroke, he closed his eyes in order to focus on his little fantasy. It was working well, and the naughty little thrill of something new and taboo made the back of his neck prickle excitedly.

He was quite shocked and pissed when, just as he was starting to really loose himself in the dream of Gilbert fingering himself liken a slut, Ludwig's voice shattered his zone and brought him back to the floor of the shower, pulsing penis firmly in hand.

"Roderich? Are you okay? You've been fifteen minutes longer than usual."

"I'm fine!" he hollered, less than impressed. "go away!"

"Well be fast, Hungary is here to say hi."

Roderich swore and stood up, no-longer the least bit aroused. "I said go away!"

"Hurry, she doesn't have long."

Ludwig's heavy footsteps echoed as he strode away. With a low, frustrated groan, Roderich shut off the shower and steeped out. He didn't bother to dry himself properly, pulling on a plain white shirt and trousers, Hungary had seen him looking worse and so he stalked out just as he was, scowling, glassesless, and headed to the parlour where he knew she would be waiting.

"Oh, hi specs."

The person seated on the sofa, much to Hungary's obvious distaste, was the last person in the world Roderich wanted to see.

"Get away!" he snapped, pointing to the door just in case Gilbert had forgotten where it was. "She doesn't want to talk to you, leave her alone!" Austria couldn't tell if the last nights events were impressed in his memory, or if the haze of alcohol had clouded them out. He wasn't sure he wanted too.

Prussia shrugged carelessly, leaned forward and grabbed an obscure blurry object off the table, before leaving. Hungary watched him go.

"Wow." She commented lightly. "When Italy told me what had happened, I didn't believe him. I almost feel sorry for the asshole,"

"Don't, he seems to be pretty fond of them. Gilbert, I mean, not Italy."

"Uh-huh." Hungary combed her fingers through her hair and stood up. "I could tell by his outfit."

"I bet you could."

That gaping, almost transparent blouse had left nothing to the imagination. Especially not Roderich's already excitable one.

"In any case." He sniffed and went to adjust his glasses, before remembering they were not there. Where were they anyway? Had he left time on his piano last night? He didn't remember taking them off before he went to bed… "What was it you wanted to talk about? Make it short, I'm in a terrible mood."

Hungary nodded and smiled sadly. It was a shame, she was fond of happy, sweet natured Roderich, and she always felt a little pinch when she thought on how tightly, in see-saw mirror motion, his emotions were tied to those of the heavily bestowed Prussian.

"I can tell that too."

…

Gilbert fancied himself as having quite the swag on, when he studied himself in the reflection on the oven door. Those glasses, Roderich's nerdy specs he had pinched off the coffee table, were fairly attractive actually. Slim, light, cute. And the shape complimented his nose fine.

He tilted his chin up, to get a better look, and grinned, stepping back so he could see his whole body from the hips up in the reflection and shaking his booty a little. Arms raised, he observed the gentle undulation of his breasts in their cotton confines, and shook it a little harder, just so see them bounce.

"Yeah baby, shake what your mama gave you…"

"Gilbert?"

"West!" he stopped 'shaking what his mama gave him' immediately, snapping around and gaping dumbly at his younger brother. "hi! Didn't see you there!"

"Uh…" Ludwig seemed unable to process what he had just observed, rather than linger he spun on his heals and walked straight out. Gilbert sighed. He had been hoping to con his sibling into making some wurst or something.

Resigned, he fiddled with the frames of Roderich's glasses and sunk into one of the stools at the breakfast bar. There was a loose screw on the left leg, he tightened it with his nimble fingers and clicked his tongue. He was so _bored_. Boredy boredy bored… he couldn't leave the house looking like this, Italy was out and Gilbird was to busy sleeping to pay him any attention. Whatsisname, Canada, had his xbox. The only thing on TV was Martha Stewart living, but Gilbert frankly was more interested in Martha Stewart _dying_. Until channel prime started showing a program more along that line, he wasn't about to switch on the box.

He settled for pricking his ears, trying to hear whatever it was Roderich and the mad cow were talking about. It sounded gay, whatever it was. Apple picking? Maypoling? Wet hairy man sex?

He sniffed and fixed his gaze stoically on the fruit bowl, straining to listen as close as he could.

"The carnations look beautiful, don't they?"

"I think you should buy pink ones next time…"

"No, peach. I want peach ones."

Gilbert groaned and let himself sink into the stool. Fuck that. Flowers were for wimps and faggots. And France. They were also for France. Who kind of ticked both those boxes but not in the way Gilbert condemned. He entertained the thought of maybe going and seeing him, actually, but immediately dismissed it when he remembered France was likely to try it on. He wasn't the kind of guy to pass up giant boobs. Spain? No… he would probably be to busy doing some boring shit with Romano. Gardening, or dancing lessons, or whatever else it was raging Spanish homos liked to do when attempting to seduce a little man bitch.

Oh god, Gilbert thought, flopping as face forward onto the counter as his bosoms would allow. First world problems alright. Kesh…

"Oh good." Germany re-appeared in the kitchen, after having carefully checked around the doorframe first to make sure he wasn't interrupting any more suspect activity. "I need to talk to you."

"Mmph." Gilbert didn't look up from the marble bench top.

"England phoned me when you were in the shower and told me he's sorted out a potion to shrink… those." Awkwardly, the blonde German scratched his neck and stared at the clock on the wall. It wasn't a particularly interesting clock, but at least he didn't see it dancing like a stripper in front of the oven every time he looked at it. "He said hes going to a small meeting in Copenhagen tomorrow, and you could pick it up then."

"Huh?" Gilbert perked up. "You serious?"

"I am."

"Oh hallelujah!" the stool squeaked across the floor as Prussia pushed it back, raising his arms and throwing them around his brother for an overly awkward hug. "Oh glory of god, heaven be praised…"

"Uh, Gilbert?"

"Ah, the good lord has been good to me! Thank fucking goodness, I'm saved!"

"Gilbert!" firmly, Ludwig separated himself from the others arms. "Stop that. It's unnecessary."

"Is not." A sharp pink tongue was poked out, and Gilbert flounced around the breakfast bar, suddenly hungry. He wrenched open the fridge, and dug around for a can of beer. They were all gone, he couldn't imagine where. "I'm finally going to be myself again. Thank god, my back really really hurts!" seemingly on cue a twinge of nerve pain twitched all the way up and between his shoulders, he sucked between his teeth and Ludwig sighed.

"Okay, okay. But this means you're going to have to go to the meeting to get the cure. Feliciano and I aren't going."

Gilbert stopped sniffing the carton of milk in his hand, and let it slip. The box thumped on the floor and thick white milk glogged out with a viscous sucking noise, like a bathtub draining.

"What?"

"We aren't going to the meeting. It's just a few of them, a random lot to witness some signing or another. Feli and I weren't selected. So you can go get it yourself."

"What? Can't you go get it for me anyway?"

"No, we have plans."

Gilbert knew that 'plans' entailed loud passionate sex. He bit back the poisonous taste on his tongue, and kicked the milk carton angrily. Not that it had ever done anything particularly nasty to him, it was just comforting. Therapeutic, if you will.

"So what, you just expect me to walk right in by myself with _these_? Everyone will take the piss out of me, west. That's not fair."

Ludwig shrugged. "Life's not fair." He regarded his sibling for a moment, the wide, puppy eyes, the lowered shoulders curved from bearing a heavy weight between them…

He sighed.

"If you really, really don't want to go, Roderich is supposed to be there. If you ask him _nicely_ maybe he-"

"What? Fuck off!" Gilbert looked scandalised. The mere suggestion of asking a favour of the priss was a direct insult to his dignity. "I'd rather die with these things still attached."

"As opposed to what?" speak of the devil, his sour, snooty voice carried before Roderich even properly appeared in the room. "Please say 'continue living.'"

"Ask you to pick up my fucking boob-cure from fucking Arthur." Gilbert rolled his eyes and shut the fridge door. "I do have some dignity you know."

The Austrian snorted. "Even if you begged I wouldn't."

"Has Hungary left already?" Ludwig asked, hoping to diffuse the bomb that was sure to go off if he didn't put a stop to their banter. Roderich seemed even more irritable toward Gilbert than usual today, that much was clear in the crease in his brow and the severe line of his lips. He looked tired, and ruffled.

"Yes she only wanted some advice on gardening. And an explanation about her cake."

"Oh." Ludwig stepped aside to let Austria past him. He knew the expression on his face. It was the 'Roderich-needs-to-drink-about-five-liters-of-coffee-right-now' face, and past experience had taught him never to read this as a harmless condition. He thought of the milk splattered all over the floor, and was just about to say something when a loud cuss word and clatter made the words on the tip of his tongue redundant.

"Fucking shit!" Gilbert's voice, the two men collided and crashed against the counter, Roderich slipping down Gilbert's front into a pile on the floor, Gilbert's back bending inhumanly against the bench ledge. Ludwig winced.

"Oh my god! What the hell Gilbert?"

"What the hell what? It's your fault for not looking where you were going!"

"How could I see where I was going, I don't have my gla-hey! Give them back!"

"Fuck off, you don't deserve them!"

"You son of a bitch!"

A small fight ensued, Gilbert of course having the upper hand. He was taller, and had good eyesight, the glasses of discrepancy held triumphantly above his head. Roderich struggled to reach past the other mans breasts.

Fed up with such infancy, Ludwig interjected, snatching the glasses and passing them back to the Austrian who needed them most.

"Thank you Ludwig." He spat the grace, as though he really wasn't thankful at all. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to play my piano. And I _don't_ want to be disturbed!"

He flounced off, trousers covered in milk around the cuffs.

"What's up his ass?" Gilbert asked, rubbing the small of his back. Ludwig sent him an evil look, and left the kitchen too.

…

Later that afternoon found an Agitated Gilbert thumbing the 'last resort' number into his cell phone and jamming the thing up against his ear. Five rings later, a familiar purring _bonjour_, he started making his demands before Francis could even figure out who it was.

"Francis, you owe me a favour. Tomorrow when you go to the meeting I need to you find England and get something off him for me. No excuses, I need it and I can't go myself because-"

"Woah woah woah!" on the other side of the line, Francis had finally regained the ability to speek. "Gilbert, calm down! Wait, zis is Gilbert, is it not?"

"No, its fucking China. Of course it's Gilbert, stupid."

"Ah, no need for cruel names, mon ami." A soft hum, Gilbert rolled his eyes dramatically and dropped himself into Germany's desk chair. His brother was out walking the dogs with Feli, besides Austria locked tight in the parlour, he had the house to himself and was making the most of it. Underwear, t-shirt, and a scruffy beanie to keep the cold escaping from the top of his head. Without consciously making a decision to, he slid open Germanys desk drawer and began riffling through the contents.

"Now, speak slowly, and tell me what is wrong?"

"I need you to get me something tomorrow." Under handkerchiefs, papers and a stapler was a pair of nail scissors Gilbert found of interest. He pressed the phone between ear and shoulder, pulled his left foot into his lap and began clipping his toenails. "From England when you go to that meeting thing. Antonio isn't answering his phone, West isn't going, and I can't remember that other guys phone number. So horror of horrors you need to do it. Right?"

Francis sucked a breath.

"Why can't you do it?"

A glance downward at his chest, Prussia scowled. "Trust me, I cant do it. I'm not able to leave the house at the moment."

"Well, then you 'ave a problem, don't you? I'm not going. I 'ave an important appointment with the prime minister in the morning. Spain is on 'oliday with Romano in Costa Rica I zink… and Mathieu is with Alfred on one of zose crazy 'bigfoot hunts' in ze rockies."

Gilberts jaw dropped. Bigfoot hunting? Like the kid really needed his xbox for _bigfoot hunting_.

"So… what? Is anyone going tomorrow?"

"Oui, I believe your Austria is."

"He is NOT my Austria!" less than impressed with that statement, Gilbert nearly sliced a sizeable chunk off his pinkie toe with his brothers scissors. "And anyone else?"

"mm… Russia. Japan. Australia I zink, maybe Greece and turkey? It was chosen at random."

Gilbert groaned. He knew _none_ of those nations well enough to trust them with this. Except Russia. Who was, in his opinion, a cunt.

"You really are a jerkoff you know that?"

"zo heartless… what is wrong anyway? Are you ill? Should I make you something nice, or come over and nurse you back to 'elth?"

Prussia hung up, and threw the nail scissors to the floor in frustration. Why did everything in life suck except for him?


	6. Chapter 6

If it seems like I got impatient and rushed with this chapter… its because I did. :/ sorryyyy~

The next morning came around much too soon.

"Here, Gil, try this." Feliciano had been in his room since three, trying to tame his breast before he stepped out of the hose and caught the train with Roderich to Copenhagen. Actually, the little Italian had done a reasonable job. Suitable applications of masking tape and a questionable corset Italy just _happened_ to have stashed in Germanys wardrobe, they were actually sitting pretty stationary. Huge, somewhat flawless, but not jiggling and not too big they looked to pop out of the button up shirt Gilbert pulled on. They hurt. As if the pain in his back wasn't bad enough, the restraints put on them were making him want to whine in agony. A huge, chest crushing pressure, he felt he could hardly breathe or bend over. His face drawn and more pale than usual, his under eyes dark with loss of sleep. He hoped he didn't throw up or anything, because he was feeling pretty damn sick alright.

The horrible dark embarrassment about having more people see him like this, even citizens on the train, was making him want to lie down and die.

"Are you ready?" Roderich clapped on the mans door fiercely. He was not looking forward to it, at all. There he was thinking that he was going to have a whole Gilbert free day and bam, now the bastard was tagging along like a superfluous, deformed limb. If Prussia had just swallowed his goddamned pride and asked _nicely_ Roderich probably could have found it in himself to take mercy and get the whatever it was on his behalf, but hell was more likely to freeze over and frankly, he couldn't wait that long. He needed to catch the seven am train Gilbert or no Gilbert, and that was that.

"No." stiffly, Gilbert took the trousers Italy offered him and leant heavily on the smaller man for support as he stretched them on. Each movement ripped a splint of pain down his torso along his sternum and front of his stomach, his teeth ground and finally, he was able to straighten up and button his pants. "Hang on, I just need to put on shoes."

"Put them on in the goddamned car! We are late!"

Face contorted into a bitter expression, Gilbert hobbled to the door and wrenched it open. Roderich jumped, but stepped aside to let him out.

"Here." Italy pressed a pair of Germany's shoes into Roderich's hands. "You're going to need top help him with these, he's all trussed up like a turkey in that shirt, and I think he's in a lot of pain."

With his back turned away so the Austrian couldn't see the grimace of agony on his face, Gilbert straightened his back a bit, and walked a little higher. Because no way in hell was he going to look weak in front of his enemy. No fucking way.

Roderich rolled his eyes and clattered after him in his own neatly laced little boots. The taxi was waiting by the door, and as the two of them stepped out onto the drive a breeze wafted a fine breath of cool air over. Roderich caught a nosefull of that smell _again, _that one that was ominously unlike Gilbert's usual musk, and couldn't help but think that it was pleasant. Of course, he put a stop to that immediately, and carried on walking down the drive.

The two struggled in the car, the driver not missing Prussia's chest and giving them a good once over as they did so.

"Where to ma'am?"

Roderich interjected before Gilbert could bite his head off.

"Train station. Gil, here are your shoes" he threw them carelessly, one hitting the other mans lower ribcage and sending yet more anguish through him. "Hurry up and put them on. You look like shit at the moment. Tidy your hair! And don't look at me like that, its your fault you-" he was silenced by a firm fist planted in his face.

"Shut the hell up you bitch." Gilbert shook out his fist and, still in shock, Roderich didn't even bother to stem the almost comical trickle of blood edging from his left nostril. The taxi driver regarded the two of them in the rear-view mirror as though this was a perfectly regular occurrence in his daily life. Mildly interested… but mostly just not caring.

"Marital problems, eh?" he wiggled his eyebrows. "Well, missy, if you're thinking of leaving, Barry the taxi man is happy to have company."

Gilbert gave Barry the taxi man a look that quite concisely conveyed the idea he would rather lie down and die, but the man missed it, to busy backing onto the road. Roderich was only just regaining the ability to think. His nose was throbbing terribly and his hands were quivering with fury.

It was going to be a tense day.

…

It wasn't until the two were on the train, Roderich flicking moodily through a magazine, Gilbert in the corner by the window with his forehead pressed against the cold glass, the two spoke again. Roderich had quite the nice nose walrus going on, to stem the bleeding from his nose that had healed pretty well a while back, him being a nation and all, but had forgotten to remove. Gilbert hadn't pointed it out. Usually, this would have been because he found it funny, but that day it was because he didn't notice. He was too pre-occupied sulking, hurting all over his upper body and thoroughly pissed off at all the men who were to busy looking at his chest to observe he actually had quite a masculine face, thanks, and didn't appreciate being referred to as miss or ma'am. (He was up to four of those, and counting.)

"Gilbert, you still haven't put your shoes on."

"I know." He huffed, looking briefly at the abandoned pair of shoes waiting patiently on the next door seat. "I can't bend over to do them."

"Well why not?"

A painful silence settled in their little train cabin, Gilbert dropped his eyes self consciously and lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal exactly what Italy had done to secure his chest. Roderich's jaw fell, and he had to click it back up with an obvious tink.

The bindings began above his belly button, firm and rigidly starched, Roderich wondered how long that particular item of clothing ha been tucked away in Italy's closet collecting dust. An even more concerning though occurred to him then, it was probably a too-small sex outfit improvised to make a tight girdle, flattening the break line of Prussia's bosom and smoothing it, so it wasn't in motion nor anywhere near as curvaceous and obvious. This was secured over a plain white tee, and taped firmly in place along his waist.

"I can't bend over. West said I shouldn't go out jiggling and shit. He said I would look more respectable if I tried to control… well." He sniffed and dropped his shirt. "They don't like being controlled."

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"… No. as it were, my flesh is wood and my skin is steel. It doesn't hurt at all." Back to sulking, Gilbert tried as hard as he could to fold his arms. But he gave up, letting them fall to his sides. "Of course it hurts."

"… why didn't you say?" disbelieving, Roderich dropped his magazine and switched seats. "How can you tolerate that? That's terrible!"

"if I don't tolerate it then I have to have them for the rest of my life. I'd rather put up for a little bit of pain, thanks."  
>Suddenly, Roderich felt very bad about being so nasty over the past twenty four hours. This breast thing… Gilbert really wasn't doing it on purpose after all. And it had never actually occurred to the Austrian that well…<p>

They may actually be inconvenient to have. You know. There, extremely emasculating… generally in the way and sore.

He bit his lip, and fingered the hem of his sleeve.

"Why can't you just get the cure without the bindings?"

"Because… I don't want people to make fun of me. Duh."

"Oh." Roderich dropped his eyes; they fell on the pair of discarded shoes. "Well, did you need some help putting your shoes on or what?"

Gilbert conceded in silence, lifting prettily manicured feet and allowing his arch nemesis to slip his shoes on and lace them up. Roderich's fingers laced neatly, and when he was done he let the other mans feet remain on his lap.

"Boots suit you better you know."

"Mm." Gilbert's lowered eyes, his gaze distant and focused beyond the train that snaked through green countryside, fluttered a little in acknowledgement. "You know you still have tissue in your nose, eh?"

The rest of their journey passed in silence.

…

It wasn't easy, walking into that room and feeling the eyes of everyone fall on him hungrily. Japans placid expression slipped for a second, to something perverse and contorted, Russia's smile broadened, even Greece sat up from his place at rest on japans shoulder. Everyone except England whispered.

"Oh, hello Gilbert."

"Hi." He jammed out his hand for a handshake as confidently as he could. His fingers trembled, but he managed to hide it well. "I believe you have something for me?"

"yes, actually, I do, but it will need to wait until break, it comes with instructions you need to hear."

"Right, so I'm supposed to take a seat?"

He could feel the burn of eyes on him, he felt like a freak. A camera flash, his head snapped around and he realised with horror Japan had taken a photo. His sides ached horribly.

The meeting room was small, and contained only seven people besides himself. A round table, each place set with glasses of water, everyone sitting around shuffling papers except for England and Denmark, who were at the front by the blackboard and clearly in charge. Roderich had taken his place next to Israel (gosh, he was a doleful, hardy looking youth alright,) and the two began an easy conversation, though Gilbert knew Austria couldn't really stick the kid. There was a space free on the other side, which he immediately sunk into with a sigh of relief. It wasn't comfortable sitting, sure, but it sure as hell was better than standing.

England cleared his throat.

"Now that we are all here, we can begin…"

…

"Hey, Gilbert?"

"Mm." he grunted flatly, and let his chin tip to his chest.

"Gilbert, wake up." A soft hand squeezed his shoulder. He jumped, and almost toppled off his chair. Roderich pinched his brow, then eased when he realised that his subject was awake. "It's over." Without thinking, he drifted his fingers over gilberts cheek and stood. "We can go home now."

It was over?

Good god, really?

Gilbert was utterly bewildered, much too much so to actually stand up and leave. The soft murmur of voices and the shuffle of paper signified a certain finality that always came with meetings of this type. Everyone was standing, stretching. Outside the window, it was dark.

"Wha… how long was I asleep?" he screwed up his face and tried to remember… he could recall the first two painful hours of the meeting, a discussion about some political crap Denmark was sorting and he needed witness on, but after a certain point everything began blurring into this precise moment, and he couldn't quite make sense of anything much between then and now.

He rubbed his eyes, and was sharply reminded of his chest situation when the bindings pinched awkwardly. A soft hiss, he gritted his teeth and looked for England, who was no where to be found.

"I thought I was supposed to talk to England during…" he addressed Roderich, and trailed off uselessly come the end of his sentence. His brain tended to take a while to reboot sometimes.

"You were asleep. We just left you. You've been resting for about three hours and I thought you needed it."

"So where…"

"Hi, Prussia." A crisp, broad tongued greeting Gilbert jumped in his seat. Once again, he nearly offed from his chair.

"… Hi."

England gave the man a firm smile and sat down. He really didn't look so good, was Arthur's first impression. Tired, embarrassed, pained. He thought that actually, the Prussian falling asleep during the meeting had been a good thing. At least that way he wasn't aware of Russia's hungry eyes (the fellow, Arthur noted dryly, had a receding boil on his forehead and no doubt numerous more hidden by the coat that swamped his frame) raping his body, or the soft plots of Japan and Greece as they sized him up for perversional purposes.

"If we had thought about it sooner, we could have set you in the greenroom today and you could have slept there. Or if you were so tired, why didn't you get Roderich to pick it up for you?"

Roderich coughed awkwardly, but no-one said anything. Arthur rolled his eyes and dug in his pockets for the item Gilbert was coveting. He withdrew a small package, a vial of something tied neatly to a tub of something else. The tub of something else, according to the label, was golden canola low fat canola spread. Gilbert knew that actually though, it's contents were nowhere near so innocent.

"Right, so after you left I felt so terrible that I fixed this all up for you good and nice. But, because I did it in such a hurry, and because it's essentially a spell to speed up what was going to happen anyway, it comes with some provisions. Temporary hexes are funny things see; they don't like to be lifted until they have run their course. But it might be easier." He stared thoughtfully at Gilbert, unaware that his breasts were actually quite tightly strapped up under his clothes. "It looks like they have started to go down already."

"I wish."

Arthur gave him a puzzled look, but Gilbert shook his head rather than elaborate and reached for the package. "So what do I do?"

He was really hungry. Almost that kind of hungry where you feel sick. And it was really hot in the meeting room. As the last of the people, hissing and whispering and giggling behind their hands (Japan struggling and failing to snap one last photo before he left) fluttered by a soft waft of cool air was sent cascading over warm cheeks. Consciousness of his bindings was returning. And with a violent vengeance.

"Well, it's simple. When you get home you drink the tincture with say a cracker or two. Then, I recommend you go to bed and try to sleep as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"Because about a half-hour after you take that, things are going to get _exceptionally _painful. Think… jack hammer in your bones painful, yeah?"

Gilbert blinked a few times in miscomprehension. "What?"

"See, the trick of that potion is that it basically eats away atmagical flesh like a virus, and it condenses in your joints, most specifically your spine and chest because of the specific nature of your… situation, to sort of send out scouts and do its work. You might find as well you loose a little weight around your hips and stomach. Cold sweats, queasiness…" Arthur ticked off the side effects on his fingers "oh, and it's playing around a bit with your hormones, so feminine moodswings and maybe a little bit of biological clock related mischief. When I gave Alfred some of this stuff, he got upset because I didn't pay attention to his 'womanly needs' and tried to breast feed a table lamp."

Arthur spun his finger around his ear, to signify general kookiness. THAT had been an interesting weekend. "You might very well go totally loopy. But then again, that may just be an Alfred thing."

Gilbert sincerely hoped it was.

"… How long is this supposed to last?" he was almost afraid to ask.

"Mmm… twelve hours? If you can sleep thorough it, the good. If not-"

"Hey, are all of you done? Shall we leave?" Denmark was the only remaining nation, standing by the door of the room with an armful of papers and a content expression. With every other nations' curious eye fixed on sleeping Gilbert, they had all been happy to sign whatever paper he put in front of them! It was all very delightful… he couldn't wait to get home and tell Norge.

"Yeah just a sec." Arthur pointed to the spread container. "If you cant sleep, that's massage wax. Get Ludwig to give you a back rub or something. It will help."

He left Gilbert sitting numbly in the room, Denmark flicked the lights off and left the door open for him, for when he was ready to leave. The package sat on his lap.

Outside, car lamps flicked by in the nightline.

"Ugh…" he hunched forward, trying to put his head between his knees to escape the light headed dread that he was feeling in his gut and not succeeding. "oh gooooddddddd…"

"Gilbert?"

He leapt up, regretting it instantly when doing so cramped his lungs and the semi-dark room blurred and smeared in his vision.

"Roderich?" the Prussian had totally forgotten about his companion, standing stationary and silent by his side the whole time.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't think…" he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on balance. "I dunno. I feel weird."

"Well, it's only a little walk to the station. When we get on the train you can go back to sleep."

"Uh… yeah." Gilbert wobbled to his feet and winced, hands white knuckle tight on Arthurs concoctions. The air was strangely viscous. He coughed a little, and gagged on it. A faint expression of pity and concern flickered on Roderich's face and he gripped the other mans wrist as they hobbled out the room. As much as he disliked the fellow, seeing him struggling and in pain was a somewhat uncomfortable experience.

"Are you sure? You don't sound like you are breathing so go-"

"I'm fine!" Gilbert insisted, jerking his hand away and swaying. "I don't need your he…lp…" the earth shuddered beneath him and his sides clenched with a tearing cramp. His legs gave way, the light from the open doorway flickered. Far away a curious call

"Come on Roderich, Gilbert, the building is shutting down for the night!"

A thump, and then darkness.

…

Being tugged back to consciousness was not unlike being torn wetly from dreggy tar and thick black muck and mire. A dull ache in his head, an even blunter pulse of pain in the small of his back, Gilbert groaned miserably and squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping to recede once more into darkness.

He was lying down, he was suddenly aware. His head resting on something soft, a pleasant openness around his upper body. A gentle hand petted his hair absent mindedly, and when he felt that his eyes snapped wide open. Reality leapt on him and after a moment of unco-ordination he realised he was looking up at another man, on what must have been a train cabin seat, late at night. His head and shoulders were comfortably nestled in the others lap, and the scent of the clothes by his face was soft and pregnant with evening flowers.

"Where am I?"

The hand combing through his hair immediately stopped its administrations, the perpetrator also jolted back to the little world within the cabin as opposed to the great dark one zipping by outside.

"Oh hi." Roderich adjusted his glasses and sniffed superiorly. "You fainted. We are on the train home now and you owe me a thanks. I carried you here myself."

"You what?" gilberts brain was lagging; he was struggling to remember why he was on a train with Austria, of all people. "Why?"

"Would you rather I just left you on the floor?" his arm lifted in an obvious invitation for Gilbert to sit up, but the prone man missed it.

"I uh…" he screwed up his face.

The memories came in drips and drops, eventually reaching an apex and flooding his mind with humiliating severity. The breasts, the meeting, the lips working on his chest…

Wait, where did that memory come from?

He moved upward hurriedly, but was overtaken by a wave of nausea and had to lie back down. He noted that his bosom was free and undulating again, his shirt buttoned poorly, as if in a hurry. Italy's corset was cast over Austria's briefcase, on the other seat in the compartment.

"Holy shit!" lost for words, he lay there in horror, staring at the neatly panelled ceiling of their cabin. "Oh my… oh GOD!" hands came to cover a suddenly crimson face, likeable to a firetruck or other obnoxiously red object, and Roderich pulled his chin back in shock. He let Gilbert have his little break down in bewildered peace, and thought that once the Prussian had stopped clawing at his cheeks and mumbling slurs in a wild swear-filled language he only half understood, he would remind him of the potion England had supplied. Which was currently neatly tucked into his waistcoat pocket.

"Gilbert-"

"-"

"Gilbert!"

"-"

"GILBERT!" Roderich yanked the other mans hands from his face and glared at him. "Calm down! Look, its okay, I have the medicine England made you here. It's in my pocket."

Wide, red rimmed scarlet eyes peeped back at him, and he looked away, distinctly uncomfortable. As if it wasn't weird enough having to of removed the corset and tape and seeing gilberts bare breasts properly for the first time, now the puppy eyes were being brought out and he had no idea what to do under their influence.

"Really?"

"Yes really." An agitated hand covered the top half of gilberts face, and a huff and a head shake wasn't enough to dislodge it. "Now go back to sleep. We will be home in about an hour."

…

Jada, theres the next chappy then. ^w^ no smexy times yet… but I just wanted to take a moment to thank every single one of my readers, and especially those who have left me reviews. ~I love you all, I really do, and appreciate you very much. :3

I do not own hetalia.


	7. Chapter 7

Gilbert barely managed to get into the house.

His back and sides were so goddamned sore he had to lean heavily on Roderich to get there, and of course the man who had always prided himself on dignity and sophistication was less than happy about it.

But there was just something so strange and uncomfortable about 'needy' Gilbert he found he just couldn't say no. especially when that slender body was draped around him, chest pressed close to his side and heaving with the strain of walking. When the owner of that chest was being so uncharacteristically silent and almost, almost seeming… vulnerable.

The two hobbled into the parlour and grunting softly, Roderich hitched the other into a chaise and smoothed his waistcoat neatly.

"Are you alright?"

Gilbert moaned. A drama queen, Roderich never would have believed it a few days ago, but now…

"I want to die… get me a beer and a couple of biscuits."

Roderich rolled his eyes. Gilbert was _fine_, under all the sulk. "Okay, wait here, drink this, and I will get you a beer. If there is any." He rummaged around in his pocket, (God this is more trouble than its worth! Why is it always _me_ who gets stuck running around after him? It's not fair…) and dug out the flask and the bottle of wax, setting it on the coffee table. "And I will be back in a second."

Gilbert remained, staring at the little bottle of potion and chewing his lip.

Reckless, he popped it open and skulled it all. It tasted like vanilla, but in an uncomfortably bitter way. He pulled a face, and dropped the empty bottle on the sofa.

In the kitchen, Roderich was unable to find a single beer. Which didn't surprise him, what with how dunk Gilbert was the other night. He grabbed two glasses of milk instead. There wasn't much of that left either, after the spillage incident yesterday…

Sighing, he edged back into the parlour and set the glasses down on the low coffee table.

"We only had milk."

"Mm." Gilbert nodded and rubbed the heel of his palm against his right breast. "It's fine."

"Are you still hungry?"

"Not really… I feel sort of sick."

"Okay… you haven't eaten all day…"

"It's okay. Just… Gimme the milk." Gilbert made a clawing gesture at his cup, and sighing Roderich pressed it into his hand.

"You drunk the stuff."

"Yeah, of course."

"Good."

Roderich unbuttoned his cravat and edged around the table to sit beside Gilbert on the sofa.

A pleasant silence descended in the room. Comfortably, the two sat and sipped their respective drinks. The soft perfume, that odd one that eluded description and recollection, poured over Roderich's palette. He rather liked it.

"You smell really good Gilbert."

"Huh? Oh yeah. I'm using that man-perfume you gave me for Christmas."

Austria stopped and looked at him, disbelief obvious on his face.

"What?" Gilbert raised a hand defensively. "Aren't I allowed to take a little pride in my hygiene?"

"No." Came the flat response. "Frankly I find it concerning."

Gilbert shrugged.

"Whatever."

Roderich's lip twitched into a smile, he regarded Gilbert's profile, the delicious light casting over his one partially exposed breast was ghostly and tangible.

"Fuck." The subject jolted, and set down his drink. "Why am I drinking this when there's schnapps in the liquor cabinet." His eyes fell to the old, latticed cabinet across the room. "Princess, go get me the schnapps."

"Can you ask nicely?"

"I called you princess didn't I?"

Rather than argue, Roderich just rolled his eyes and stood up.

There was actually about seven bottles in the cabinet. They clinked and tinked when he reached past, funding the schnapps at the back and withdrawing it before sliding the hatch shut again.

"Here." He passed the bottle to Gil, who wasted no time wrenching off the lid and casting a huge mouthful back."

"Cheers." Eyes watering, lips puckering at the sour apple taste, Gilbert swallowed. The alcohol burned comfortingly in his throat.

"Okay. But Dint get drunk again. Last time you got drunk you came into my room and yelled at me for telling Italy I touched your chest. And then you asked me to give you oral sex."

Gilbert choked on his second mouthful of booze, a fine spray splattering the coffee table before them.

"… you told Italy you felt my breasts?"

Roderich met his shocked gaze with one of distant confusion. "Yes… you remember? You came in and shouted about it?"

"No I did not!"

Clearly, Prussia had been much drunker than Roderich had suspected.

"Oh…"

To say the atmosphere in the room was awkward would be a tragic example of understatement.

Silence, much to thick to be broken by small talk, thundered around the space. Roderich lowered his wounded body into the sofa again, with none of the prior ease. Gilbert felt the first pinch of new pain at the small of his back and he remembered distantly England's advice, about maybe being asleep while the elixir did its work. He winced and shifted in the chair. The cushions rustled.

Neither man had taken to draw the curtains or flick on the parlor light. Lamplight sympathizing its way from the light posts on the street sluiced through paneled windows instead. It wasn't a warm light, but it was becoming. It was distancing, but from the corner of his eye, cut by the frame of his glasses, Gilbert. Looking as solemn and handsome as he ever did he barely bothered at all now, his shirt was all but open and his breasts more or less on total display.

"… You know, even if it is only me, you still have to try and look respectable." He set his drink down on the coffee table and leant forward to button the failing shirt in question. "God, you can't even stay classy for a day."

"I'd like to see you stay classy when you're in constant agonising pain."

"Been there, done that. Lift up your arms so I can match the buttons properly."

Grumbling, Gilbert obliged. Roderich's fingers nipped the final closed button back open and smoothed the panels either side with delicately pointed finger tips. When all the holes and beads were aligned, he began re-buttoning, starting at the second from the top and working his way down one at a time. Gilbert eased a breath of content; the back of slim hands ghosting his throbbing assets was agreeable and calming. Through the thin cotton, which was almost transparent in the cool glint of street light, he could see his nipples darkening and beginning to prick.

"There." Murmuring more to himself than anyone else, Roderich fastened the last secure, the one just above the grove of Gilbert's belly button, and brushed his palms casually across the underside of those boobs. "Now you look like a proper gentleman."

"As opposed to the alternative what?" a wry smile, and with an unusual stab of longing Gilbert almost, _almost_ seized those wrists and clamped confident, magical hands on him again.

"A slob, of course."

"… You are such a jerk."

"Says the king of jerks? High praise indeed."

The sound of the clock ticking on the mantle reigned supreme again. A piercing feeling was beginning to initiate itself in Gilbert's tail bone and between his shoulder blades. It was like… being poked by several needles. His bosom was beginning to throb with heat and no matter which discreet way he tried to sit on the chaise he couldn't get comfortable.

"Fuck…"

"What is it?"

"It's starting to hurt. Can you help me get to bed?"

Roderich almost dropped his milk. Gilbert never, _ever_ asked him to help with anything. Ever!

"What? You want me to help you…"  
>"Just help me walk there. And bring the back rub shit. Owowow…" he managed to push himself upright, and a bolt of discomfort bit in his spine. "Holy fuck that hurts."<p>

"Oh, uh.,.." unsure what to do with himself, Roderich leapt to his feat and grabbed the spread container. "Take my arm then, I suppose I can help you."

A grunt was his thanks.

...

Ten painful minutes later, the two had made it to Gilbert's room and the spent albino had collapsed onto his bed. He landed badly on his chest, and holy crap did it hurt. A soft whine, he bit his tongue to prevent from howling in pain.

"Careful!" Roderich pushed him over onto his back and groaning like a broken down old wreckage of human being, Gilbert obliged. His limbs were flaccid, the pricking in his lower back and shoulders had shifted to his hips and the chasm between his tits. All that remained of pain in his spine was a stiff, plastic tension, that promised to snap his bones if he tried to bend. Even Roderich noticed the strange hold of his body, and the peculiar arch of his back as muscles turned rigid where they should not normally be.

"Fuck! I feel like I'm entering bloody rigor mortis!"

"Yeah, you look like it. Try to relax."

"I can't! I cant it hurts so fucking bad!" screwing up his face, helpless fingers splayed for the pillow above his head, he hissed and struggled. A flutter of wings and Gilbird lighted from his perch to investigate the goings on.

"Here." Roderich tugged the pillow down and upon grasping it, Gilbert slammed it down over his own face and groaned piteously.

"Why was I born?"

This was a queer question, for any nation (or ex-nation) to ask, and Roderich didn't know how to answer it. He ignored the small bird taking a perch on his head and sat down on the edge of the bed. It sunk a little, under his weight, and the springs creak. Gilbert liked his bed ridiculously soft. Roderich much preferred a firm mattress. He struggled to understand the other mans obsession with sinking a metre into his bed.

"Is it that bad?"

Gilbert tugged down a corner of pillow and peeked at the other.

"… Well, not _that_ bad. Can you turn on the lamp?"

A soft click, the lamp threw light into all the corners of the room. It dipped into hollows and cleaves and bronzed everything warmly. Gilbert sighed, and pulled himself onto his side.

"Thank you. When you go to bed, wake up West and tell him to come give me a backrub."

Roderich glanced at the clock.

"Gil, its 11.30. He will be asleep."

"He owes me for not fetching my cure!" sulking, Gilbert nuzzled his pillow and tried not to focus on the cleaving pain in his upper body. His breasts were pounding, as though they were swelling and shrinking in a tide. His nipples were sore and stiff. Everything about him was uncomfortable. "And England said to get him to give me a massage to help." He huffed and clutched the pillow even tighter. It pressed against his bosom, Roderich sighed and pulled the container of massage wax once more from his pocket. He was resigned, he felt bad for the man…

And he well, Gilbert with tits just utterly endeared him. The thought that they will be taken away, and Gilbert will return to his usual, obnoxious and totally unappealing self, made him distinctly… mournful.

A perverted corner of his mind he didn't even try to silence wondered if he could perhaps take advantage of the situation. The back of his neck prickled, because he didn't see why not? The thrill of such a forbidden, derivative thing was making him a little hot.

"Well, don't bother about that then. Let me do it."

Gilbert pulled the pillow away from his face in shock.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." Roderich set his jaw. "Take your top off and lie down. And don't complain, I'm only being decent."

Too astonished, Gilbert did nothing. It was up to Roderich, clicking his tongue like an old hen and leaning forward to pop shirt buttons apart, who made the first moves.

Gilbird hopped onto his owners shoulder, and pecked expectantly at his ear, but no response was made and he flew off in a huff.

Gilbert's toes curled in the bedspread, Roderich's musical fingers tugged the first button, the one above the tummy button, apart.

"Where does it hurt?"

The pale husk in his voice was bare and handsome. The back of Gilbert's neck prickled, he wiggled around.

"… My back… chest. Neck."

"Tummy?"

The soft skin of the palm that caressed stomach was cool and startling for both parties. Roderich not daring to believe he had done that, Gilbert not quite sure if he was imagining it, on account of the crazy ass drug England had docked him on, or what.

They froze.

Breathing clouded anxious minds, soft heartbeats lifting ambitiously. Half cast eyes locked, trembling hands were raised, and brushed the rise of Roderich's cheeks.

"…yes." They caressed the legs of designer glasses frames, and lifted them aside. "Everywhere…"

It would have been a romantic moment, if such a notion between the two was possible.

In silent agreement, Roderich slipped his hand higher, over the smoothness of abdominals, to the curve of dipped ribs beneath ruffles of shirt. Someone's breathing, it as unsure which, deepened significantly. A tight knot of pain lightninged up Gilbert's core.

"… How about here."

He shivered when fingers spidered over the underside of his left breast.

"Aren't you supposed to be giving me… a back rub?"

"Shh… relax. Enjoy it, okay?"

Gilbert bit his lip. Those explorative fingers edged higher. Through the curtain of weariness and potion, he wasn't sure he could resist..

"Okay." He breathed, sinking forward into the touching. "Fine then, do it."

...

_Oh? What's this? Is it over already?_

_Jada, this part is anyway. To make special way for the wildly weird porn that's approaching. You been warned, folks. thanks to titoes, the über beta, who got all this done in like, ten minuites. :3 i do not own hetalia. _

_hey, are we excited for weird pron next time? are we? are we? _

_heh, wish me luck with writing it, jada. xD  
><em>


	8. Chapter 8

_OKAY EVERYONE… it's here, the final chapter everyone has been waiting for. The conclusion to my first full-length fic. The last chapter of Gilboobs: the motion picture._

_WARNING… things get smutty and weird here. Really, really smutty and weird. You have been warned._

…

"Ngh…"

"What? Is it good?"

"… Yes."

Gilbert balled his fists on the bedspread, eyes low, body rocking in time with Roderich's deep working fingers as the rolled either side of his spine. The pressure, knocking in joints that ached tensely, released knots and slid through hollows that needed it. The soft cinnamon perfume of the wax was warming; it was smooth, a little oily, and glided across the bare skin on Prussia's feathery back. His shoulder blades flexed and spread and the faintest of smiles curved Roderich's lips.

Gilbert had a beautiful body.

Curved slightly forward, arms wrapped around his knees, Gilbert exposed the bare plane to the other, sighing blissfully when knuckles clicked mutely over the ladder of his spinal column. They found a particularly anxious spot above his tailbone, he inhaled sharply, and Roderich jumped.

"What?"

"That spot."

"You want me to keep…"

"Yes."

Nodding, though Gilbert couldn't see it, Roderich carried on massaging, paying specific attention to that exact spot.

Things in the bedroom were intimate, but still a little more awkward than they should have been.

Gilbert would have been lying if he said he wasn't disappointed when Roderich's shirt unbuttoning had innocently enough resulted in a shoulder rub turn back massage. At first anyway. But he knew from experience that Roderich's hands were talented in a way that stretched beyond musical purposes. They had eased the pain between his shoulder blades quickly, and every flat palmed caress seemed to melt muscle and draw him closer and closer onto his arms. Spread legs either side of his body, Roderich's soft breath on the nape of his neck. He let a gentle whine and Roderich himself shivered.

"What?"

"It's so good… a little harder."

"Mmm…"

"Oh god yes… harder… oh fuck. Oh~… RODERICH! What the hell?" Gilbert leapt near out of his skin when, caught up in the moment, Austria lent forward and secured his lips on the side of his neck.

He smiled.

"It's fine." His breath ghosted the curve of the others shoulder, the hands stroking the small of a delicate back shifting to the waist and sliding around to a flat, bare pubic. "I just… you're sweet, you know. When you're vulnerable."

Gilbert whined, and turned his face to the side. Their eyes locked.

It was a peculiar, warmth-in-the-base-of-their-stomach thing, and a mystery as to what one saw in the others eyes in the split moment before they both broke and bonded lips in a lansgome, nervous kiss.

On the bright side, the pain in Gilbert's back had faded considerably.

The same could not be said of his breasts mind, which were on fire. Not in a painful sort of way, more kind of a recklessly horny kind of way, and without care he grabbed Roderich's hands on his lower tummy, pulling them up and pressing them insistently on his chest.

"Touch them." His breath was short, he was gasping when he pulled away, mind fogged by need and the lingering ghost of schnapps. "Fucking touch them you dumbass."

"Okay! Okay I'm touching them!" Gilbert was pulled firmly against Roderich's chest, he groaned when the fingers cupping his bosom tightened in a brief and tantalizing squeeze. He wiggled, letting his head roll back onto the supporting shoulder behind him, and arched his chest desperately. He reached for Roderich's head, pleading for another, wilder kiss.

Austria could not have been happier with the way things were going. Beneath his hands, a swelling flood of breast tingling and jingling, nipples so hard they pressed like stones to his palm and throbbing with heat. He kneaded them, rubbed them, pressed them, and Prussia's fingers clawed in his leg, sinking into the spoon and moaning through tongue and full lips. He tasted like panic laced with pornography, and Roderich had never wanted anything quite so much in his life.

"Harder…" the gasping request, Gilbert's talon-like fingers scraped through soft coffee-cream hair, his other hand tugged urgently at the bedspread. Back pain long forgotten, he curled backward, pleading to feel kisses on his throat and across his collar. It was un-ergonomic for both parties, and with a grunt of frustration Roderich ripped his hands away, rolling from underneath and pinning Prussia down properly against the cushy bed. The frustrated scowl he earned was framed by a pale halo and an angels flush. Wide dark pupils reflected a tousled brunette in flawless precision, lips worked in heavy, breathless curses.

"Keep… going…"

A rush of arrogance and power, not unfamiliar, but dusty and strange to feel for the first time in so long, riled up Austria's spine. He growled softly, and pecked the tip of Prussia's presumptuous nose.

"Beg me."

"… Wha'?"

"Beg me. If you want me to do it, then you're going to have to beg me." He lowered himself against Gilbert's body, grinding chest against breast firmly, one hand clutching the creases of the trousers that were still on slim hips. "Tell me you want me. Say it, out loud."

"Say… fuck no!"

"Are you sure?" not keen to forsake his upper hand, Austria traced his flat palm between the two firm mounds of bosom and nuzzled eagerly against it. "I'm pretty sure you want it."

"I do no-ah! Ah… ahh…"

"Mhmm…" Roderich smiled against the smooth cleavage skin he had only recently been licking. It tasted different here, sweeter, and delectably forbidden. "So beg for it, and I will be happy to help."

Gilbert, regretfully, had pretty much forgotten the word 'dignity' and all its inflections. His nipples… they were positively howling for attention, the hair on the back of his neck was goose pimpled, and his skin beneath Austria's hands was hot. White hot. So hot his sweat pricked as frozen pins across every shimmering plane of his alabaster body. Without hesitation he sucked a breath, huffing out his plea jumbled at first, the soft calming movement of the other mans hand up his waist sedating him enough to organise his thoughts.

"Please, Roderich, play with my breasts…"

"Shall I touch them?"

"Ah…"

"Shall I lick them?"

"…yes."

"Suck them?"

"Please."

The chuckle that ghosted sweet skin was fair earned and very indulgent. Without any more fuss, Austria conceded to lick evenly under the swell of the left breast up, to the fiercely rigid nipple that crowned it, and take the point in-between his flushed little lips. The sensation for the receiver was toe curling, a shiver that ducked in and out of his spine, and tangible in every extremity. The soft suckling that began as a result of the initial kiss wracked wave after wave of moaning shivers over his body, and his hands clawed possessively in smooth brown hair as the head bobbed and hovered above his chest.

"Yes…" voice hoarse, Gilbert rolled his head back, body arching, hungry for more contact and more tongue. "Oh god yes harder. A little harder… ohhhh~"

Roderich couldn't help but smile, feeling very pleased with himself. One hand wandered up to pinch and pull and pluck at small fingerfulls of skin around the rose of Prussia's unattended nipple, his tongue curled precisely around the button of flesh tucked in his mouth. His hands murmured across a sweeping, alien waist, to the small of a back arched eagerly. Without intending to, he found his fingers dipping into the waistband of rumpled dress trousers, hitching the body beneath him closer an sinking between spread thighs. His mouth popped away from the victims breast with a kissing suck.

"Feel better?"

"Don't fucking stop!" a sharp jolt was delivered by the hips he had settled against, and he found himself falling face first into sweetly perfumed cleavage. Rather than give in though, he settled for scraping his teeth across the surface of velveteen skin. Barely able to make out the galaxy of tiny almost invisible freckles salted across the heaving waves of his current existence, he aimed for the darker places, where they congregated and coloured pearl flesh peach, because Gilbert was clearly conscious of his freckles. He seemed to know every single one, and reacted accordingly when a wet tongue flicked across it. The neckline across the cleft of his chest and plating beneath his collar bone was sensitive, but not sensitive enough and they both knew it. One perhaps a little more consciously than the other. Gilbert's frenzied hands tried to force him own, but to no great effect. Austria was genuinely enjoying his opportunity to one up over Gilbert. He didn't even bother to swat the hands away, instead using his palms to rub the underside of bust.

It wasn't until Gilbert's ability to form words like 'not there!' and 'fucking asshole!" had dissolved into a mess of moans and wordless pleas that he slowly, patiently, he kissed down and received the left nipple once again.

Not going to have such a thing stolen from him once more, Gilbert held the mans head down and squeezed his eyes closed. The soft flickering of tongue around the sensitive rim of his areola was doing strange things to his body, things he had never experienced before like a heated tingling oh his nape and fingertips and scalp. Every square millimeter of his breasts, from the gentle finger pinching on one nip and the slow lapping on the other was pulsing. He felt good. Go he felt good! He was short of breath, squirming and sighing and tensing all over in the strangest places, but the way Austria was sucking… oh god. Gentle at first, then harder, harder, harder, head pulling back against Gilbert's hand to stretch them out. And his teeth, his teeth sinking ever so lightly into the blushing red flesh and tugging every occasion, when the wave of padding or fat or whatever it was breast was made off slipped the point from his mouth.

Austria adjusted his position, releasing his lips, but resealed again on the other almost immediately to a sharp intake of breath and a quiver that shook the whole bed. His groping became rougher, heavily manipulating the flesh in his palms, pushing his hips forward right between Gilbert's legs so he could feel the other mans erection through his trousers.

"Have you ever tried this?" he murmured against the skin, nose tracing a sweeping idle loop over the surface. "Sucking your own?"

"No!" the thought distracted Prussia, and was not in the least but arousing, so he forced it aside as fast as he possibly could. "That is gross!"

Roderich shrugged. He thought it was kind of hot... watching Gilbert lift one bosom with a delicate hand, push it flat and guide the nipple upward, to press against parted lips and a skirting tongue… he immediately echoed fantasy Gilbert's actions, point of his tongue twitching over the milky blend line between white skin and flushed erogenous zone. Prussia whined, shoulders rolling impatiently.

"More…"

"Yes sir." Smiling evilly, Roderich lowered himself on the right nipple this time, sealing his mouth right around and taking as deep a suck as he could manage. The strangled cry that tore from Gilbert's surprised lips was sexy and high pitched, soaring weightlessly on the charged air in the room.

It took just over a minute of continued sucking for him to notice that no longer was Prussia reacting so strongly, and no longer was his body so tense. Perplexed he popped off, only to be met with a whine of humiliation. But poor Gilbert couldn't help it.

He had cummed himself. From Austria playing oral foreplay, he had had an orgasm. And it had been amazing, and the tremulous aftershocks were still flowing through him and he just… he wanted to die.

"What?" Roderich snapped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "It's not fun when you stop reacting goddamnit!"

Gilbert whined, and rolled his shoulders. His back pain was returning again. As was his chest pain.

"I…" he winced, and tried to get comfortable in his now uncomfortably wet trousers. "Oh god…"

"You what?" Roderich gave one breast an aggressive squeeze. "Are a dirty whore? Like my mouth?"

"I'm a dirty whore…"

"Mm… yeah." His lips descended graciously against the curve of a throat, hands pulling at flesh and touching, kissing, melting. "You little bitch… hey." Austria sat up, frowning, only just realising that the front of his subjects trousers were damp. "What the…"

The warmth of it, and the soft, heady scent made the back of his neck prickle. He recognised it instantly.

"… You came."

"Mm…" covering his flushed face, Gilbert nodded. "I'm sorry…"

Neither moved. Neither said anything. Roderich's mad heartbeat cantered in his chest, unsure if he was put on or off by this. Prussia quivered, tensing once again with pain. His nipples felt like they were going to bloom into blossoms of flames. The darkness of them called them back to Roderich's attention…

And Austria decided that he really didn't care, he wanted to do more sucking.

The silhouette of the two figures cast on the wall when Roderich lunged was an unusual one, in the low, intimate light of gilberts bedside lamp every angle and line of their bodies was rendered in shadow on the plain wall beside them, and as accurate as it was, the fact that it was borderline impossible couldn't be denied. Slim legs, longer than they looked when clad in baggy ripped jeans or cargos, spread wide for the one hunched between them, his nose pressed to the smooth plane of the top of the breasts beneath his face and lips. A gracefully arched back bore the tension of pleasure, and swelling tits sheened with sweat rose and fell with every ragged breath. Popped pert nipples, stiff dark shapes quivering on the backdrop of white the two twinned. Pianist's fingers undid Gilbert's pants, stripping them off and unleashing his slightly rigid manhood.

Usually, there were about a million things going around in his head. Music, cakes, Hungary, the garden… but for the first time in well over two centuries, Roderich found all of those things partitioned from his conscious by a hazy, blurry curtain of genuine sex-drive. Testosterone (remarkable… he really hadn't remembered what that felt like at all,) aggression, horniness… one great big plain thing, driven by the softness of flesh beneath his hands and the breathless sighing of his partner.

Fucking.

He scrambled to get himself undressed, clothes cast carelessly over the side of the bed and onto the floor in a crumpled heap. His glasses too, cast onto the bedside table. Gilbert jerked his head down, kissing heavily, running the ball of his foot along the back of Roderich smooth thigh indulgently and indulging in the feeling of two erections sliding against his stomach. Their arms coiled, roping together, and they moved flawlessly, curling and touching and rolling, Roderich was flipped with ease and Gilbert, totally feeling like he was a sex god, knew by instinct what he was supposed to do.

He placed the heals of his palms on Roderich's own chest and slithered down his body, letting the points of his bosoms grate over the soft, pearly skin of a magnificent tummy and resting when he felt the head of the others cock press against the underside of each swell. Pinching Roderich's much less sensitive but still delightfully erogenous nipples, he ground his chest over stomach, the pressure pillowing each breast and pleasuring in a way he couldn't quite pinpoint. It was like a broad, cotton wool sort of warmth that consumed him, had him bowing his head and letting it rest on the cushions formed by the overflow of his own flesh. Roderich whined, hardly able to contain himself, and suppress the urge to jerk his hips up _hard_, into the warm softness between Gilbert's assets. Assets that were being lifted reluctantly, their owner distracted from his task by the hunt for the massage wax…

He located it on the sidetable, dug out a handful, and sat up as straight as he could despite the sharp complaint of pain in the small of his back.

Roderich got an absolute eyeful. He stared in wide eyed amazement at every inch of Gilbert's naked body. The slope of his shoulders, the shy, but somehow also defiant inclination of his pale head. His mooning breasts, radiantly pale and decorated with those _incredible _freckles, undulated a little as he moved. Even below the waist, where there was nothing really new for Roderich to see, was beautiful. A little smaller than often boasted, but handsome, and proud. Waxy hands left reflective trails over the swellings that Gilbert noticed with a slight, complicated twinge of emotion, were just the tiniest increment smaller than they had been that morning, delving into the chasm between them slowly and lubricating the sides of either one. He lifted his eyes as he did it, staring fiercely into the darkened gaze of the man who had inspired the most insane and obscenely wondrous orgasm he had ever experienced with merciless lust. His tongue flicked his lips, Austria spread his legs a little, running his palms over the v of his pubic bone.

"Move them." Gilbert demanded, voice desperately low. "Quick." He tapped the back and they were quickly removed, lacing with his own and pulling him forward, back into his former position. The underside of his bosoms were so sensitive he could feel the heated pulse of dick against the back. It was distracting; he needed to concentrate if he wanted to get this right…

With a soft 'ah!' he felt the tip notch into his cleavage from behind, and Roderich swore loudly, crunching knuckles so hard it hurt them both. It only got worse when his length was enveloped slowly by slick hot flesh, sinking through the firm gap like a weapon through a mans body, a knife penetrating forbidden, sinful places in a phallic statement of power. Gilbert whined, his fingers near breaking, and wrung them loose to grip the hips he was leaning against. Slowly, he allowed himself to sink against Roderich's hips, chest totally consuming the other mans dick and pressing down further until he felt the tip press over, bursting between them and nudging his lower lip curiously.

Slowly, he began to squeeze and rub his breasts, massaging Austria's erection through his own yielding flesh, tongue slipping forward to caress the tip. His head bowed, his hair fell forward and Roderich groaned, a horribly deep sound from as far in his lower stomach as he could muster. His head was spinning. Because it was hot between them, it was rolling, it was slick and that tongue was doing sinfully wonderful things to the crown of his starved dick. The way he slid in and out, the feeling of fucking something and receiving a teaseful blowjob at the same time… he savored it, delighted in it. He devoured every second hungrily, focusing on sensation as if he had never felt before and allowing his voice to spiral out of control. He could feel Gilbert's hands rubbing his breasts and the fingers against his stomach stroking pointed nipples, he lifted his hips, cloying pleasure dripped down his spine, and invited Gilbert to suck a little more as he went. The bedslats creaked, Gilbert shivered. He had not realised that between his tits was so sensitive as well. It was strange, and deliciously taboo, the feeling of feathery stimulation between them. And the wetness beading from the tip of Roderich's cock, dripping from his lips, was warm, and of a much smoother, sweeter consistency than that of lube.

Realising, with a tinge of pain that he should probably sit back up before his spine locked in this position, he shifted backward, wiping his hand over his mouth and baring Roderich's erect penis for only a brief moment, before he took it back in hand. His fingers glided easily along it, and it took him a moment of sitting, feeling surreal and light headed, to pull himself together. The skin across his chest and stomach was blushing violently. Roderich noticed it distantly, but was too busy morning the loss of heat and flesh on his cock to pay much heed.

Gilbert managed to get his head together first, the bedsprings creaking as he shifted to lie atop Roderich's body chest to chest. The weight was strange, but welcome, and the astonishing smoothness of Gilbert's thighs between his own luxurious and magnificent. Gilbert's hands caressed the sides of his face, fingertips drawing a mental picture of his jaw and cheeks and chin on the inside of Gilbert's eyelids. When his middle finger traced the beauty mark on Austria's chin he sensed it, eyes cracking open, leaning forward, and kissing the spot chastely in the hopes it would do as he had always suspected.

It seemed to. Roderich quivered, losing a wanton sigh, and slid his hands over the small of Gilbert's back. Stomach to stomach, both men felt the pressure of the others cock sandwiched between them, two lengths side by side and throbbing a little, in need of tenderness. Prussia leaned forward again, and flicked his tongue over the spot. This time, Roderich's chin lifted dramatically, and the little zone was offered up for more stimulation. His lips parted, the stain of red cartoonish in the light. His cheeks were on fire, high on his cheekbones, and Gilbert scratched his scalp as he did it, raking nails softly and slowly over the hair at the nape of his neck. Carefully set waves of fringe had long since fallen into disarray, and hot, he tried pushing his hips forward a little to get a bit of stimulation going on.

Gilbert pulled from his kissing spot, lips wet with glossy spit, and flicked his tongue over the bottom.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…"

"You obviously haven't seen much…"

"I dunno…" his kisses fell on neck, reaching the juncture where chords of throat became collarbone, and discovering the white string of an old scar. An old scar of Teutonic origin. How wonderfully sexy.

His tongue paid it tribute, and he ground his breast forward. They were still pulsing demandingly, and he longed to have them sucked some more. That being said, there were other parts of his body he wanted sucked. And as if functioning via mind reading, Austria had him rolled onto his back, his thighs spread wide, his confident, very awesome if anyone asked, dick full and rigid and on display. It was touched, a long finger tapping the beading precum dripping from it, and Gilbert hissed, fingers ranging the sheets into fists. Austria hummed, licked his lips, and daintily swept the head of it between his lips.

"Aaah _fuck_." The quake that shuddered Gilbert's frame banged the headboard against the wall, his leg muscles clenched and he could feel every perfect spot of Austria's tongue swirling, his lips buffeting, his teeth brushing ever so gently against the line of his foreskin and the teaseful fingers massaging at the base. Thumbs pressed and rubbed beneath, one leg curled reverently over Austria's hunched back and lost, totally lost, Prussia's head tipped back, his throat an elegant, arching line bearing a fluttering vein which his own fingers traced. One hand found a place on his own breast, pinching and pulling at his nipples. Sweat glowed on the skin of both men.

For a little moment, the only sound in the room was that of dedicated sucking and slipping of skin, heavy breathing and ravishing. In the depth of the house, pipes creaked and boards settled. Feliciano's soft snoring carried through the back wall. Gilbert didn't notice. He was far too busy being hyper-aware of everything around him, from the feel of sheets beneath him to the hazy fuzz of pain in his spine. Most of all though, he was focused on the surges of bliss that lapped at his hips and lower stomach. And Roderich. Oh god _Roderich. _

"Suck my balls." His voice sounded strange, but he wasn't bothered. The weight of his breasts on his chest was wondrous and amazing, and he moved his hand beneath them to touch the feathery soft skin on the bottom.

"Manners?" Roderich asked throwing his hair back off his face and shifting around, his one hand pressing one leg up despite the obvious pain it should have caused. His mouth pressed to the back of Gilbert's thigh, a gentle bite as he bent, nibbling and sucking and licking his way over the back of one leg until the angle was too difficult, and he could kiss no more.

"Roll over,"

"Suck my-"

"Roll over and I will think about it. Spread your legs."

"I can't, they-"

"prop yourself up on a pillow, come on." A small sharp slap to a pale thigh, the tightness of flesh barely clipped, and reluctant, uncomfortable, Gilbert threw himself over onto his stomach, dragging a pillow beneath him to support his weight. His erection dug against his belly, and he groaned when a weight mounted the backs of his legs. A few fingers touched the concave of tailbone and swept up, along every notch of spinal column, delicate shivers ascending and spiraling as they did. A mouth followed after, and hands the dug into sides gripped hips, the warm wetness of tongue savored the mingled taste of massage wax and skin. Roderich kissed down, over the swells of Gilbert's behind, and pried his hands between his thighs.

"I said spread your legs."

Gilbert whined, unable to with the weight on them, and realising this Austria knelt up, his fingers delving between his thighs and prying them apart enough for him to trace two fingers along the crevasse of Gilbert's pretty behind. They sunk a little, at one particular, softly velveteen spot. Frowning in concentration, Roderich bent at his waist and kissed one side of Prussia's ass lightly. The yelp and jerk of a leg he got in response was cute. He said so, and Gilbert made the most resentful noise he could with his face buried in his pillow.

Lips ghosting over soft skin found their way to the very tip of Gilbert's tailbone, one finger still teasing the yielding spot, the other prodding silken perineum a little, and tickling the short, fine, pale, pale hair there along the junction of thigh. Gilbert either didn't have much pubic hair, or he waxed the fuck out of himself. Austria suspected the former.

Prussia seemed more than surprised, to suddenly have a wet, warm tongue caressing the soft line of his backside. His grip on the pillow became vice like and his shoulders quivered anxiously. At first, he wasn't sure what to make of it. the wetness was odd, and the heat was powerful, but he didn't have long to reflect on it before it had joined fingers in nursing the one place he both wanted it most and least in the world. The flat of it caressed slowly, the point teasing cruelly. Lips flirted too, and Roderich's hands caressed ass, thighs, balls, massaging soft heat into cool flesh. Gilbert whined, lifting his hips unconsciously, moving into the tongue playing him and pleasing him and feeling generally marvelous in ways it really should not. Because oh _god_ no way could he deny now that this felt good. It felt so, so good and he was dizzy with it, he was begging for it, spreading his legs wider and moaning lightly in time with every flick and lick of tongue.

"Fucking hell!" he managed, breathless and bordering on tears "Roderich… wha-aht are you DOing?"

No reply, just two fingers jabbed expertly into his perineum enough to jolt and the feeling of soft hair brushing his tail as Roderich sat up, a little pink in the face himself, and shook out his shoulders.

"Giving you a backrub, idiot," the heals of his palms ground up the sides of Gilbert's back to the nape of his neck. "Should I stop?"

"… No."

"How about you return the favour."

He rolled sideways, landing heavily on the bed, and raked his fingers through Gilbert's cropped hair. Gilbert who threw himself back on top, breast pressing hard against chest, wildly taken with that idea and any like it. Several heavy kisses later they pulled apart, Roderich getting a proper look at the man he was embracing and loosing his heart entirely to him. Half cast red eyes burning, flushed lips wet with the mingling glimmer of both their saliva. Pale skin, rumpled hair, his noble collarbone dipped and bearing breasts that looked a little smaller, still swelling though, and set on his own breastbone like trophies on a mantel. He touched Prussia's face, his hand was nuzzled, the joint of his index finger bitten sexily. He ground his hips up into Gilbert's and received a flutter of lashes in reply.

"Gilbert…"

"Roderich…"

Austria nodded, chewing his lower lip. "Yeah?"

"Make me come again."

"Kiss me first."

…

Both men were lost in the storm of kisses and touching. Skin against skin, thigh between thighs, Gilbert's throat was marred with love bites and red lines were gouged into Roderich's back, a mark of the almost agonising pleasure clutched in the heat between them. Neither had been willing to concede to being fucked, but without him even noticing Roderich had managed two fingers inside Gilbert, and they waved over and against each other like the sea washing over the shore. Gilbert's breasts were heaving, their skin, wetted by precum and sweet massage wax, slicked over itself again and a gain with a filthy sort of shclicking. Grinding and fucking against each others hips, they rode a steady rhythm, the headboard of Gilbert's bed echoing it slowly. No part of either mans body was private anymore. All was each others, nothing sacred.

"Fuck Roderich that feels good!"

Austria pinched Gilbert's hipbones some more, trying to convince him to resume biting his throat. A madness overtook them, and crushing Austria to his bosoms Prussia whined, within inches of climaxing and painting the inside of Roderich's thighs sticky white.

Feeling in a heart leap the wiry tension overtaking Gilbert's body, Roderich stopped fingering the man, ducked his head and swept a nipple into his mouth to suck him to climax. His nails pricked his lovers sides, and indulging in the sporadic feeling of Prussia buckling against him Austria let himself ride the swell of orgasm, A string of meaningless sounds twirling luxuriously in with cries of bliss and shivering all the way down Gilbert's spine.

And that was it, he realised after the flat haze of post-climax took him into a zone of ease and contentment. That was what it felt like, to make love with his enemy and his breasts.

…

"… Shit." Gilbert spoke first, after an interval of about five minutes. "Holy shit."

His voice was still soft and quaky. He raised his arms and wound them contentedly around Roderich's waist-

"Mmm." Austria conceded, nuzzling the soft, rising falling flesh of what remained of Gilbert's tits. He didn't have anything to complain for. He had just had incredible sex, his partners sweat smelled wonderful, and a blissful, phenomenal drowsiness was overtaking him.

His life was good.

…

Gilbert and Roderich lay awake the next morning, side by side, fully aware the two of them that the other was conscious, but neither willing to say a single word. To speak would be to shatter the fragile moment, the moment which found Roderich's cheek resting on Gilbert's flat chest, his hand stroking the flute of his waist across his other side, and Gilbert combing fingers through sweet scented, dark hair that he could not, frankly believe, he had never touched before. Elsewhere, sounds of life could be heard echoing in the house. Italy mostly, jumping, skipping, doing god knows what actually, and Germanys dogs, their nails scraping Austria's drawing room floor.

He winced, and shifted uneasily in the bed. His eyes lifted, they locked with Gilbert's.

"Morning" he mouthed, lifting his stroking hand and rubbing the crust from the corner of his eye.

"Morning." Prussia replied, touching his lover on the tip of his neat, aristocratic nose. "did you sleep okay?"

"Great, yeah."

They remained there silently for another moment, listening to one another breathe, both coming to terms in unspoken awe to the new landscape of Gilbert's body. It was strange. For the both of them, it was extremely, exquisitely, strange. Austria sighed first.

"Gilbert?"

"Mm?"

"… Are we going to get up?"

...

_well, there you have it. you know, when i started this, it was supposed to be a two chapter max foray into weirdass porn. how we got here is beyond me. xD_

_so i was lounging around in class today and i realised ive had this for a whole week sitting on my computer, and hadnt published so far. sorry about that! better late than never, mind. also, i dont own hetalia. do you wanna review? _


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